


Life, After

by slowcookedvig



Series: Defining Felicity [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: ARGUS, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, F/M, Grief, Healing, Intrusive Friends, Mysteries, Season 7 fix-it, characters defining themselves (despite what other people want them to do), exploding bad guys, formerly dead Felicity, lazarus pit effects, loss of a child, people change, retired vigilante Oliver, safe sex, safe sex is good sex, so done with brooding!Oliver, so done with supportive!Felicity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 09:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 52,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17179952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowcookedvig/pseuds/slowcookedvig
Summary: Two years ago, Felicity and her baby both died. She was brought back in the last Lazarus Pit... and she had an uncontrollable urge to kill Oliver.Now, Felicity - well, technically 'Meghan' these days - is back. And she needs to deal with the secrets of a formerly deceased head of ARGUS, the memories of everyone else who was ever in that Lazarus Pit, and her widower. Not necessarily in that order.Critical of canon!Olicity.





	1. Prologue: My Name Is...

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to "To Live." That fic is very critical of canon!Olicity, and ends with Felicity and Oliver going their separate ways. In this fic, I put Oliver and Felicity together again... in a way that I like. I've been described as an "anti-Olicity fan," so what I like probably isn't what you like. (I like consent, and respect, and equality in relationships. I don't see any of those things in canon.)
> 
> Background from "To Live": After Felicity died, Oliver took her to a Lazarus Pit in northwestern Wyoming, which was one of Talia al Ghul's strongholds. Nyssa, Thea, and Roy arrived just after Felicity came back to life, and destroyed the Pit. Roy went back to Star City with Oliver (where Oliver was on probation after being convicted of being the Green Arrow). Thea and Nyssa took Felicity on a road trip of blood lust and self-discovery. Along the way, they found out that Talia had resurrected Amanda Waller, Isabel Rochev, and Samantha Clayton, whom Talia hoped would kill all of her competition to be Ra's al Ghul (that would be Nyssa, Thea, Oliver, and William). Samantha turned out to be a bad choice: she didn't want to kill her son, and she fell in love with Nyssa. (Samantha is such a completely undeveloped character in canon that any backstory or sexual orientation seemed possible. Plus I wanted Nyssa to be happy.) Felicity shot Isabel (who was threatening Thea), and Samantha killed Talia (who was going to kill Nyssa). Amanda Waller was left in an ARGUS prison. At the end of the story, Felicity discovered that she still had the urge to kill Oliver (and that they had a lot of unresolved relationship issues anyway), and cut her undyed hair and went to work with Lyla as an ARGUS contractor named 'Meghan Jones'. Oh, and Samantha ended up inheriting the League of Assassins and changing them into protection for Doctors Without Borders. (I don't think I can explain the full reasoning behind that.)
> 
> Chapters alternate POV between Felicity and Oliver. Felicity's chapters are all in first person. All the chapters are in present tense.
> 
> The first explicit stuff will be in Chapter 7.

_Two years after the events of "To Live"_

I tuck a wisp of dark hair behind my ear and head up the stairs to an office suite at the back of the building. Amanda Waller's case has been long, and complicated, and has implicated more people at high levels than I had ever expected. I've left ARGUS, with Lyla's blessing. Her hands are tied - figuratively, that is - by the bureaucracy and the corruption that it hides. She's done what she can to help me, but this is my problem to solve. And I have the skills to solve it.

Well, most of the skills. And some of the knowledge. But not all of it.

I've had him under surveillance for months, so I know he's been doing good things. He started his own carpentry business, while continuing to help with affordable housing projects. He's been patient with William, even as William sprouted up, started shaving, and developed a surprising bit of attitude. And he stopped a mugging, without shooting anyone. And even more importantly, he got stuck in another no-win situation, and made the best of it, without relying on anyone but himself for moral judgment.

Lyla was amused when she found out what I had been doing. I told Lyla it was training - a test to see whether I could control my blood lust. She smiled, and told me about how she had watched John, even before Waller had asked her to keep an eye on his work with Oliver. I shrug, and don't deny anything. I did, after all, use a security camera to watch him go on his first date since my death. I discovered that I didn't want to kill him... but I did do a little fist pump when he tore up the paper with his date's number.

So now, here I am. About to go into his office, where he keeps the plans and accounts for his custom carpentry business. My excuse is weak. But maybe that's the point. 

I knock, then open the door. "Oliver Queen?" I ask.

He looks up.

"My name is Meghan Jones."

He frowns slightly. I wonder if I am recognizable at all - short dark hair, no glasses, and a body that never fully lost the weight I gained while pregnant.

"I need some custom carpentry done, and they told me that you were the one to see." I open my bag and put its contents on his desk.

He looks at it, then looks carefully at me. "This is a laptop," he says.

"I know," I tell him. "Obviously it's a laptop."

"And you need me to build...?" He looks at my hair, where it is tucked behind my ear. The holes from my piercings are gone, healed in the Pit.

"It needs a case," I tell him. "To protect it from coffee."

"From coffee..." He looks at the laptop more closely. "Are these..." He lifts the laptop and examines it. "These look like bullet holes."

I smile at him and shrug.

He looks at the laptop, and then at me. "Felicity..."

"Meghan," I correct him. "Officially."

"Meghan," he nods. "I think you're probably better at dealing with a laptop than I am." He hesitates. "What can I do for you...?" 

"I'm conducting an investigation," I tell him. "And I think you might have the answers that I need."

He keeps his face quiet. "What kind of answers?"

"I'm looking for information about something that happened on an island in the North China Sea," I tell him. "Almost fifteen years ago."

He lets out the breath that he was holding. "I'm ready to talk," he tells me. "And when I'm done talking, I'm also ready to listen."

We leave the office and go to a coffee shop. Just a coffee shop, for now. But as l look over the mug at him, I recognize the possibility of more. Maybe a lot more.

We'll see.


	2. Oliver

Oliver is running late.

He isn't normally late. Not any more. But he had ordered the wrong wood, and then he needed to call and change the order, and then he was put on hold, and when he finally was able to talk to an actual person he had been gruff enough to annoy the customer service agent on the other end. Which of course has made him even later than he would have been otherwise.

And yes, the voice in his head is babbling. The voice in his head babbles a lot. Which makes it all the weirder that Felicity - no, Meghan, she said to call her Meghan in public - that _Meghan_ had been so calm and smooth in their first conversation. Was that a bad sign? Maybe it was a bad sign. Maybe she was calm because she had to be, because she still needed to do yoga and breathing exercises and whatever else she had been working on to keep her blood lust under control. 

Or maybe, possibly, she only seemed calm because Oliver's heart had been racing a million miles per second during their entire coffee date. Date? It had been at a coffee shop. And they had talked, for about two hours, while their coffee got cold. But they hadn't gotten very far into Oliver's story by the time his phone had buzzed with a question about the delivery of a custom roll-top desk, and he had had to leave.

They had made plans to meet again the next day to continue the conversation. And Felicity had promised to tell him more about her reason for coming back to Star City.

And now Oliver is late.

He hurries along the sidewalk, glancing into the window of the coffee shop on the way to the door. Where is she? He looks for blonde hair, a glint of light reflecting off glasses, before he remembers that she doesn't look like that anymore. But even the new Felicity - Meghan - with short, dark hair and perfect vision - isn't sitting at the table beside the window.

He opens the coffee shop's door and looks around.

There she is. At a small table, her back against a wall. A part of Oliver's mind registers the tactical awareness before he thinks about it. It's new. Well, not that new - but Felicity had always given him the seat with the clearest view, without even asking. Before. Back when she was officially alive, and they were married.

The other seat, beside her at the little corner table, also has a good view. They will both be able to see the entire shop, plus the street outside. So she isn't ignoring his paranoia - she's just hyper-aware herself. 

Oliver tries not to let that observation bother him. Instead, he glances over at her and nods. She nods back, smiling over her mug, then turns her attention back to her book. Or at least, she appears to go back to her book. But Oliver notices the quick scan around the room, the check to see if anyone is paying an excessive amount of attention to them. The coffee shop, however, stays its usual self: the buzz of conversations, the rustle of papers, the clatter of keyboards, and the whoosh of steam going into milk.

Oliver grabs a quick cup of drip coffee and heads for Felicity's table.

"Sorry I'm late," he starts.

She smiles again and sets her book aside. (Not a laptop, Oliver notes. Not a tablet. He will have to check the title before she leaves - he had been too busy trying to read her expression to look at the book until she had already put it aside.)

"I'm not usually late," he continues.

Her eyes look amused. "That's all right," she says. "The chai here is good."

It isn't her old drink order, Oliver notes. Another change for the list.

"I'm interested in hearing the rest of the story," she continues. "Do you have everything you need?"

Oliver nods, takes a sip of his coffee, and begins. He had only just met Slade Wilson - there had been so many side tangents in the story yesterday that he hadn't gotten very far. Felicity listens closely as he describes his first failed attempt to leave the island.

"Why those lines from _The Odyssey_?" she muses. She nods at the book beside her. "I've been reading a couple different translations lately. This one doesn't use the word ' _bred_ ' - it's just _'Of all creatures that live and breathe and creep on earth, we humans are the weakest_.' You're fortunate to have read the same version that Fyres' boss did."

"I don't know why they used those lines," Oliver admits. "It never occurred to me that it was strange. It's a classic, after all. And I hadn't read many classics. At least, not then." He looks at the book, then at her. "Also, I may have studied from a guide that my fraternity had put together based on previous years' exams." He winces, expecting snarky judgment.

Felicity just nods. "Well, it helped that you knew the famous line. And maybe Fyres was working for someone who was a fan of Alexander Pope. Did you ever run across any more of their codes?"

Oliver shakes his head. "Not that I remember. But I might have missed them. My survival was mostly the result of a lot of luck."

She looks skeptical, and Oliver remembers that she came out of the Lazarus Pit with Amanda Waller's memories. She may know more of the backstory than he does. But she just responds with encouragement. "Maybe you'll figure out more of the codes now that you're not trying to survive the island. Go on." 

So he describes meeting Shado, and blowing up Fyre's weapons, and Yao Fei's death.

"Yao Fei's story is so strange," Felicity muses. "It's hard to keep track of all the people who used him as a scapegoat. First the Chinese military, and then Fyres. And the different things he did with you - he shot you, and starved you, and trained you a little. And betrayed you."

"He was only pretending to betray me," Oliver reminds her. "Fyres had his daughter captive. He would have done anything for her."

"Do you think that was the most important lesson that he taught you?" Felicity asks. "To sacrifice yourself for your family?" 

Oliver shrugs. "Maybe." He knows - and Felicity knows, but doesn't say - that Talia al Ghul may have wanted him to learn that lesson, too, so that he would eventually fight her father. It's disquieting to think about how much of his moral code may have been the result of Talia's manipulation. That's part of the reason why he hasn't picked up the hood since Felicity's death. 

He expects another question about Yao Fei, or maybe an explanation about why Felicity is so interested in the story of a man who has been dead for twelve years. But she is silent for a moment, watching and listening, and then nods across the room. A couple of young women are looking at them and whispering. Oliver hadn't noticed - the whispers have been following him ever since Felicity died.

He shrugs. "It's hard to go anywhere without people talking," he admits. "Down side of being a former mayor."

"And the city's guardian vigilante," Felicity finishes.

Oliver shrugs again.

"So how is the city?" She leans back and sips her chai. Oliver suspects that it is a deliberate change in the conversation, but he decides to go with it.

"It's all right," he says. "It doesn't really need me anymore."

"And is that all right with you?" she asks.

Oliver frowns, thinking. The question hadn't occurred to him, not in that way. "I like my work," he says slowly. "I like making things for people. Things that they want. Plus the affordable housing work is kind of like trying to save the city."

"You don't need to be in charge?" Felicity asks. "You're ok doing what other people want you to do?"

"It doesn't really bother me," Oliver shrugs. "It's a relief, in a way. It's good to see my friends in charge, instead."

"You mean Dinah Drake?" Felicity says. "She's back, and she's the police chief now, right?"

"Yes, but I also meant Roy Harper," Oliver replies. "He started out fixing cars, but then he started responding whenever people criticized the Glades. Now he represents them on the City Council." He shakes his head. Of all the people to become responsible adults...

"The city likes its vigilantes after all," she smiles.

"Some of them," Oliver agrees.

"And nobody asks you to go back to it?" she asks.

He shrugs again. "They've learned not to."

She looks amused.

"What?" he asks.

"You almost growled there." She raises her eyebrows at him.

He gives another helpless shrug. Her eyes laugh back at him. He smiles in return.

And then his phone buzzes. He picks it up, looks at the alert, and swears softly. "Work," he explains. He pauses. What if she has all the information that she needs already? What if she is going to disappear again? "I still don't know why you needed to talk to me," he says. "Want to meet for coffee again tomorrow?"

She looks carefully at him. "How about dinner next time?" she asks. 

"Dinner..." Oliver forces himself to breathe. "Dinner would be great. Yes. Any time. I don't have plans. I mean, nothing that I can't change." He stops and looks hopefully at her. 

"Tomorrow," she says. "How about at six?" 

"I can be there at six," Oliver says. He takes another breath and channels the man who faced down Slade Wilson and Ra's al Ghul and Prometheus. "Italian?"

"Italian," she smiles back. And then she starts to stand, tucking her book into her bag. He stumbles to his feet and pulls out her chair, then follows her out the door.

As they leave, she turns to him one more time. "And as for your other question," she says, glancing around at the crowd. "I'll get to it. In time. For now - " she looks at him carefully. "You'll just need to trust me."

***

Oliver is the first one to arrive at the restaurant. He's early for the reservation, in fact, and has to stand near the bar while their table is set. He runs his hand through his hair and orders a scotch. It's just dinner, he reminds himself. And he's not the Green Arrow any more, and nobody has tried to blow up any restaurants in over a year.

He doesn't tell himself that this is just Felicity, and he's had dinner with her dozens of times before. Once upon a time he had lied to himself about things like that. But he's been trying to face his fears these days.

Finally, the table is ready, and he follows the maitre d' across the floor to a small table at the side of the room. Felicity still hasn't arrived, but the hidden spot seems like her request. They aren't Star City's power couple any more - she's a stranger who is trying not to attract notice, and he's ancient, no-longer-interesting gossip. And whatever she wants requires privacy. That much, he understands.

He takes a seat, thanks the bus boy for bringing the water, and waits.

He almost misses her when she comes in. He was looking for a flash of red, he realizes. But she is wearing dark blue, bordering on purplish-black. Not a dress, either - some kind of loose-fitting outfit involving pants, nothing like she ever used to wear. If it's a disguise to hide her in plain sight, it works. But her eyes are still the same, and it still warms him when she sees him and smiles.

She slips into her seat and orders a glass of white wine. Oliver raises an eyebrow. She just waits until her drink comes, then raises her glass to him. He clinks his scotch against her wine, not sure what they're toasting, not sure he can ask.

They chat about Oliver's day. He explains the design that goes into making cabinets fit just right. He knows that there's math in it, but she doesn't point that out. His favorite tool is the lathe, but he also enjoys the part of the day where he just has to sand an odd-shaped surface, rubbing the grit against the wood until its grain looks perfect and the surface feels smooth and soft beneath his fingers.

"Sounds like meditating," she says.

He nods. "I guess it is," he agrees.

Their waiter comes, and they order food. This is the part where they always get interrupted, and they sit for a moment in silence, as if ready for the inevitable disaster. But nothing comes except for a basket of bread and a plate of whipped butter. Felicity takes a slice, spreads some butter on it, and looks carefully at him.

"Tell me about Hong Kong," she says.

They've skipped a year, Oliver thinks. But maybe Felicity knows enough about Slade already. Or maybe, just maybe, she is also remembering their first attempt at a nice Italian dinner, and the story that had been left dangling when the restaurant blew up.

This time, nothing interrupts them except for the arrival of eggplant parmesan. Well, and Felicity's comments.

"They threatened to kill Tommy Merlyn?" she asks. She hasn't been surprised by most of the events - by Amanda Waller's appearance, or the interactions with Maseo. But this one throws her.

"They knew what was important to me," he replies.

She nods. "That makes sense," she agrees. "But the rest of it is confusing. Why were you being trained by a handler whose loyalty was also in doubt?"

Oliver shrugs. "That's a really good question," he says. "Though I'm glad I had the opportunity to meet Tatsu and Akio." He shakes his head. "Tatsu taught me to do laundry, and cook noodles. And to meditate." He pauses. "Maybe that's why sanding feels so peaceful to me." 

Felicity nods again. He takes another bite of his food in the space left by the silence. When he has swallowed, she asks, "What do you think was really going on with Chien Na Wei and the Triad?"

"I don't know," Oliver replies. "Amanda Waller described her as a terrorist. The Triad had a super-virus."

"The same one that was later used in Star City," Felicity finishes. "Yes. But the Triad is more international organized crime than terrorism. And Amanda Waller wanted you to help find and retrieve the virus... and then it was used against Hong Kong."

"I never figured out what was going on with that," Oliver concedes.

"Any idea why she wanted you to learn to torture?" Felicity asks. "It's not a very effective technique for getting information. She should have known that." 

"I don't know," Oliver says. "When she recruited me, she said that she needed someone of my... abilities. She knew what had happened on Lian Yu." 

"She was responsible for holding Yao Fei there," Felicity points out. "And making sure that Shado ended up there, too."

Oliver nods. "I knew that," he says. "But I hadn't put those pieces together in exactly that way."

"It's as if she intended to make you into the Green Arrow, all along," Felicity muses. "I wonder why."

"She tried to stop a general from releasing the virus in Hong Kong," Oliver says. "She wasn't the one pulling all the strings. Or at least, she didn't have everything under her control in the end."

Felicity nods. "I wonder if she had any idea how many people would be killed," she says. "Innocent people. Children." She pauses. "Tatsu and Maseo's son died there, didn't he?"

Oliver nods. He still can see Akio's face, in the end. Some deaths never leave you. 

Felicity watches him for a moment. "I'm sorry," she says.

He nods. "I've always liked kids," he says. "Ever since Thea was born. But watching Tatsu and Maseo with him - that was the first time that I could picture myself as a parent."

They sit in silence for a moment. Perhaps this is too close to their own history - to their stillborn baby, to Felicity's death.

Felicity gathers herself and smiles. "You are spending more time with William again," she says.

Oliver nods.

"How's he doing?" she asks.

So the Hong Kong conversation is over. Oliver focuses on bringing himself back to the present. "William's tall," he says. "He was awkwardly tall for a while, but he's growing into his height now."

"How's he dealing with everything?" This isn't just a redirection. She really wants to know.

"He misses his stepmother," Oliver starts. But Felicity looks away. Oliver thinks that it might be too soon to talk about that, so he shifts the conversation again. "I think he was confused when his mom came back. He's a teenager, so he knew that we didn't tell him everything about what happened, but he didn't understand why. And he was pretty mad about that."

"He's had to switch families a lot," Felicity says. "And even identities. That can't be easy. But you and Samantha have worked things out? At least as far as William is concerned?"

"Samantha and I get along." Oliver smiles wryly. "Mostly. Nyssa helps a lot."

"Thea, too?" Felicity asks.

"Thea more than anyone," Oliver says. "She's the ultimate cool aunt. And Roy likes getting to be a mentor for once."

"That's good," she says. "That's good." She glances down, then pauses for a moment. "I need to go to the restroom," she says. "I'll be right back."

"I'm not going anywhere," he replies.

She smiles as she gets up. Oliver isn't certain whether the smile is an answer to his many layers of meaning or not.

Oliver sits quietly, refusing a second drink when the waiter comes by. It isn't that long until she returns. Probably. It feels like a million years, though. She takes another bite, then waves over the waiter. As he goes to get the check, she looks carefully at Oliver.

"How would you feel about going to your place?" she asks.

Oliver blinks. 

"I mean, maybe it's too soon, it's ok if you don't want to..." She sounds like the old Felicity suddenly, and Oliver's heart does a couple back-flips. 

"Yes," he says. "I mean... yes."

It takes far too long to settle the check, at least as far as Oliver is concerned. But soon, he is following her out of the restaurant and down to the street. She stops. 

"My car is parked on the next cross street," he says.

"Good," she replies. "I took a Lyft." 

She seems shorter than he remembers, walking beside him. But she moves quickly, keeping up with his long steps. When they go around the corner, she stops.

"It's the Porsche," he says, feeling like he shouldn't have to say it. It's the same car that he had when they drove away together six years ago. The paint job has worn, and the top is up against the rain, but she has to recognize it. They had a lot of sex in the car that summer, despite a tiny back seat and an awkwardly located gear shift.

She nods and continues down the sidewalk.

***

Oliver pulls into the parking garage and rushes around the car to hold the door for Felicity. She nods thanks as she climbs out, then looks around. It's fairly small, with just enough spots for the apartments and a couple guests. About half of the spaces are currently full. It's dark enough that there could be other people who aren't seen, but Oliver doesn't hear any. A moment later, Felicity smiles at him, and he leads the way to the stairs.

His apartment is on the fourth floor. High enough to look down on the street, but it doesn't have the spectacular view that the loft used to have. It's less expensive, though, which is good, because Thea and Roy are using the old campaign office above the bunker (and the bunker below it), and he's not getting income from renting out that space any more. He unlocks the door and lets Felicity in.

"It's not very big," he apologizes. "Just a space to cook and sleep. William uses the sofa bed when he stays here. Same set-up as in the old place, when..." 

She shakes her head slightly and interrupts him. "It's nice," she says, reaching into her bag for something. "Please, show me around." She pulls out her phone and holds it up, then walks around the kitchenette.

Oh. She's checking for bugs. Oliver follows her and starts opening cabinets. "The glasses are in this one," he says. "And the plates are over here. The coffee pot is under the counter, beside the slow cooker." He opens the refrigerator. "Want anything to drink?" He frowns. There isn't much in there. "I've got some fizzy water." He looks over the refrigerator door and shrugs at her. "Sorry. I don't have company very often."

"I'm fine, thanks," she replies. "But I could use a place to put my jacket."

"Right," Oliver says, as he leads the way past William's couch and opens the door to the bedroom.

She pauses briefly before going in, and he suddenly realizes that the old stuffed rabbit and bear are sitting on the extra pillow.

"You can put your jacket anywhere," he says for the audience that he's pretty sure doesn't exist.

Felicity looks one more time at her phone, then sighs and puts it away. "It's clear," she says. "Thanks for humoring me."

"You're welcome," he says. "There was a time when I would have searched a place for bugs, too. Though not like that."

"I designed this app after discovering one too many ARGUS safehouses that weren't safe," she explains.

"Safehouses?" he frowns. "ARGUS?"

"Yes," Felicity says. "I've been working for them for the past two years."

His frown deepens. "But John didn't say..."

"John doesn't know," she says. "I was a contractor. Working for Lyla, and only Lyla, under an assumed name. Nobody else knew where I'd gone, or who I'd become. Even Thea - and I've talked to her on the phone a bunch."

"ARGUS," Oliver says. "Why?"

"Lyla asked me to," Felicity says. "Because she wanted to figure out what Amanda Waller had been involved with, and why Talia al Ghul wanted her alive."

"And that's why you came looking for me," Oliver realizes. "Because I had information."

It's the first thing that makes Felicity look genuinely uncomfortable. "Well... yes. I found out a lot from ARGUS's files. And you know I have some of Amanda Waller's memories, from being brought back to life in the same Lazarus Pit that she came out of. Lyla and I learned enough to know that there were a lot of people in ARGUS who couldn't be trusted. But we couldn't put all the pieces together."

"And you didn't want to tell me in public because you didn't know how many people were still working for Waller." Oliver leans against the bedroom wall. "But you could have just told me what you needed when you came to my office."

"No, I couldn't," she disagrees. "The office isn't bugged, but there are a lot of security cameras in that building. Anyone with a fraction of my skills could have figured out how much time I spent there. And the stories took a long time."

"So a coffee shop seemed more secure?" Oliver crosses his arms over his chest.

"Hidden in plain sight," she says. " You don't have a secret identity any more. Those kinds of conversations - especially with a woman in a coffee shop - wouldn't surprise anyone who was watching. You're more willing to share than you used to be." 

"With you, of course I am," he splutters. 

"I watched your date, Oliver," she says. "And..." 

"Wait." He stands and frowns at her. "You watched my date? My only date?"

She winces. "Surveillance," she says. "Preparation. And... sorry?"

He sighs and nods.

"From what I saw, a series of dates looked like a plausible cover story." She looks carefully at him.

"I don't take women back to my apartment after the first time we go out to dinner," he says. "Not any more. I haven't been that person for a long time."

"I know," she says. "And I didn't mean to move so fast. I was still trying to figure out whether I could tell you everything in another way. But then I got a message, and realized that I needed to act." 

"What message?" he asks.

"In the restaurant, when I went to the rest room," she says. "Lyla texted me." She pulls out her phone and shows it to him.

 _The Mockingbird has flown,_ it says.

"Amanda Waller," Oliver says, looking at it.

"She's been imprisoned in ARGUS for two years," Felicity says. "But she escaped."


	3. I go by Meghan now, thanks

Oliver and I talk for several more hours. I could really use a nice murder-board to organize all of my thoughts, but he doesn't have enough space for it in his little apartment. He does have my old workstation, though, with both of its screens. We connect them, fit them onto the tiny desk in his bedroom, and start putting the pieces of the Amanda Waller puzzle together.

...Yes, those are the same screens that I had been looking at two years ago, when my water broke early and I rushed to the hospital and died. But I'm better about keeping my memories in their places now, and I can even manage with Oliver looking over my shoulder and his old stuffed bear cuddling with my worn-out rabbit on the bed behind us...

Mostly.

"You think that Waller was working with Talia before I got to Lian Yu," he says. "You think she was one of Talia's people in ARGUS."

"It seems likely," I reply.

"But you don't know for sure," he says. "I thought... Thea told me that you had memories from both of them?"

"Amanda Waller's memories aren't very clear," I tell him. "She controlled everything. Even her emotions. It's uncanny."

"And Talia?" he presses.

"Talia's memories are a mess," I sigh. "I think she used a bunch of different Pits to stay young. And she had been using them for a long time, since she was a child. Imagine going through puberty with your creepy father's memories in your head." I shudder. "I can't make much of Talia, other than her desire to live."

"So you've got other reasons to think they were working together," Oliver says. "Like Yao Fei?"

"Yao Fei, and Shado," I agree. "Plus Talia rebuilt that monastery on the island. And everything about ARGUS's work on Lian Yu seems like too much of a coincidence, you know? Talia's student and his daughter ended up imprisoned there by ARGUS, connected to some kind of a scheme to shoot down a plane to kill a member of the Triad? And that led ARGUS to recruit you... over a year later? Why did Waller leave Shado there to train you? Why did ARGUS wait for a year before they collected you?" 

"If Waller hadn't waited, then Sara wouldn't have nearly drowned after fighting Slade, and never would have met Nyssa," Oliver muses. "And Malcolm never could have used Sara's death to manipulate me into a battle with Ra's al Ghul."

"Talia's father never would have died," I finish. "And Talia never would have had the chance to take over the League."

"So you think Talia and Waller were working together a long time ago," he says. "But how? And why?"

"And what did Waller get out of the arrangement?" I add. "And most importantly - what does she want now? I mean, we know that Talia wanted to live forever and run the League of Assassins. But I can't figure out what Waller might want."

"I never made sense of her," Oliver says. "She would always just appear, and send me off to do something, and disappear again."

"Like the person setting the stage for the show," I agree. "Or arranging the chess board. But then she died. And Talia brought her back.  But now, Talia's dead..."

"And someone else must have helped Waller escape from ARGUS," Oliver finishes. "Because ARGUS isn't that easy to get away from."

"Exactly," I say. "Lyla's officially in charge, but she's worried that someone else is really running things. And she doesn't know who it is. Or what else they're capable of."

"What else do you know?" Oliver asks. "You said you _were_ a contractor. Which means you aren't any more. Why did you quit?"

I nod. He's asking the right questions. "Someone was tracking me," I tell him. "Digitally, at least."

"But that's the kind of thing that you can normally handle," he says. 

"They were good," I say. "Surprisingly good. And they were getting close to my relationship with Lyla. I didn't want them to bring her down, so I turned in my last receipts and closed out that contract." 

He frowns. "But as soon as you left ARGUS, Amanda Waller got out."

I grimace. "With exactly the right delay for the last check request to be processed, and the end of my consulting gig to be formalized." 

"So whoever it is - they're after you." He looks worried. 

"Or after you," I point out. "Waller escaped after I came here and started talking to you. Maybe she wasn't just another one of Talia's minions. Maybe she had her own agenda, and you were part of it."

He shakes his head. "Waller knew who I was for years," he says. "She forced John and Lyla to help her with her missions, more than once. But even when she knew about my life as the Arrow, she didn't use her knowledge to make me work for her. And now that everyone knows about me, and I'm off probation, and I've put away the hood..." He shrugs. "I don't know what she could possibly want from me now."

"Maybe you're right," I say. "But you need better security." I turn to the computer and hack the building's cameras. It only takes two lines of code. "A high school kid could do this."

"Fine," he says. "But what about you? What if she's after you, and not me?"

I don't answer right away - after all, I'm typing the code that will use facial recognition to send warnings to Oliver's and my phones whenever someone other than Oliver (or his neighbors, or Thea or Roy or William...) walks through their garage. I tap my phone, then send a test alert to his. It plays one of his favorite songs. He looks at it and nods, then raises his eyebrow at me. 

"I'll be fine," I tell him, and pull a tiny gun from my bag.

He looks surprised. 

"I've been working for ARGUS," I remind him. "Lyla trained me, and trained with me. And I've got memories from both Amanda Waller AND Isabel Rochev. I know how to shoot." I shake my head at his worried look. "I practice in the ARGUS range, with Lyla. The only person I've killed was the reanimated zombie formerly known as Isabel Rochev." 

He frowns. "No blood lust?" 

"No blood lust," I confirm.

He still looks worried.

I type a few more commands. "Here," I tell him. "Now you've got access to all the security cameras in my hotel. And..." It only takes a few more keystrokes to set this up. "...I'm running image recognition for a hundred different types of weapons. The alerts will go to both of our phones." I look around the room. "Speaking of weapons, what do you have these days? My surveillance didn't notice anything, but there aren't any cameras in here."

He holds out his hands.

I frown at him. "Seriously?" 

"I was on probation," he reminds me. 

"That ended... how long ago?" I shake my head at him. "I know Thea and Roy are the main vigilantes in the city now, but I didn't think you'd ever give up everything."

He shrugs. "I practice with Roy and Thea sometimes." His lips tick upward into a smile. "They have a running bet on whether they can hit tennis balls better than I do. They usually lose." 

"Ok," I say. "I mean, you're still working out, I can tell that." But I'm still worried. The new freedom from vigilante life looks good on him - I can tell he gets more sleep than he used to, and there's something more relaxed in the way he holds his shoulders. But if the price is the risk of being caught unaware, or cornered by whoever let Amanda Waller go? Well. I don't like to think about it.

***

Back in my hotel room, I make sure the surveillance is working, send an encrypted text to Lyla, and sink into a chair. I need to run through my memories from Amanda Waller one more time, to make sure I haven't missed anything. But I've got too much stuff buzzing around my head to focus on her right now.

_The box was large. Oliver wanted to check it for bomb residue, but I recognized my mother's handwriting and the postmark from Las Vegas. So we just opened it, dug through the bubble wrap, and found..._

_'Fluffy,' I said. 'The rabbit's name is Fluffy. Or Fuffy, most of the time.'_

_He pulled out the rabbit and looked at him. 'Hello, Fuffy,' he said, and held it up._

_'You're supposed to make him hop,' I told him. 'And feed him carrots. And chocolate.'_

_Oliver looked amused. 'Your rabbit likes chocolate?'_

_'Of course,' I told him. 'Chocolate and video games.'_

_Oliver's smile got even wider. 'That's adorable.'_

_'You need to make him hop,' I told him. 'I can't do it. I don't think I can bend over enough to reach the floor.'_

_So Oliver made my stuffed rabbit hop around the room while I laughed and laughed, until the rabbit hopped onto my lap and Oliver leaned down to kiss me..._

I sigh and turn back to the surveillance. I've gotten good about keeping the memories in line.

There are the old ones, the 19th century ones, from the early days of that Lazarus Pit. I don't know their full stories, but I know that they aren't about me, and I can remember them without getting confused.

Samantha's memories are straightforward, plus I can call her and talk about them when I need to understand something. And she tells me what William is doing, and how things are going with Nyssa, and about the continuing reform of the League of Assassins into an international medical relief organization. Samantha and I are cool. I kind of like having her in my head.

Isabel Rochev's memories make sense, too. I mean, I still completely hate her, and I'm not at all sorry that I killed her. But I know - and understand - the reasons for her frustration and anger. It makes it easy to keep her memories together.

Amanda Waller and Talia al Ghul - like I told Oliver, they are confusing. But I've been working with their memories, trying to make sense of them. They aren't disturbing any more... they're mysteries. And although mysteries still need to be solved, I've learned to deal with them.

That leaves me. I've been spending time working through my own memories, too, over the past two years. Lyla has heard about my first day of middle school. I've called Thea to talk about puberty, and arguing with my mother, and all the ways those two experiences intertwined. Nyssa, of all people, listens to me talk about how I learned to code.

But I don't talk to anyone about Oliver.

Lyla has tried to start the conversations. She knew that I was watching him, after all. And she knew that my research into Amanda Waller was leading me down a path that would require talking to him. But although I would tell her about Oliver-as-vigilante and about everything I knew about Oliver's time on Lian Yu, there were some things that I would not talk about.

Memories of laughing in a convertible, the wind in my hair. Of fingers that brushed my shoulder as I typed at my workstation. Of an arm draped around me, cradling my belly while the baby kicked beneath his hand. Of playing with our old stuffed animals, and painting the baby's room, and dreaming.

I tap a few keys on the computer and start downloading the newest logs of activity at ARGUS. Perhaps Amanda Waller's friends have left digital tracks this time. I don't have a lot of hope, but at least the search fills my mind, and pushes the memories back into their corner.


	4. Oliver

Oliver walks into his apartment to find a bow and a quiver full of arrows sitting on his couch.

It's the middle of the day. Oliver wouldn't normally be home at this time, but he stopped by the apartment to pick up the plans for some cabinets that need to be installed in a new house. Normally he would have gone straight from the site of his morning work to the job that was scheduled for the afternoon, but he had been running late when he left the house, and he forget the plans. Ok. Fine. He had been reviewing the overnight video from the security cameras at Felicity's hotel, and he had lost track of the time, and he hadn't even realized that he had forgotten the plans until half an hour ago. And now he is home at lunch time, and he's anxious to look at the morning's video feed. And someone has left him a present.

His heart thumps for a moment until he sees Thea's handwriting. _Heard an old friend might visit,_ it says. _Thought you might need these._ It's the practice bow that he keeps in the bunker, longer than Thea's or Roy's bows. Not the same quality as the bow that he surrendered when he went on probation, but he's been using it and it feels comfortable in his hands. 

He picks up the cabinetry plans and is about to head out when his phone buzzes. He sees Roy's name, and answers it.

"Hey," Roy says. "Did you get Thea's present?"

"I did," Oliver replies.

"Lyla called to tell us that Amanda Waller escaped," Roy tells him. "She thought you might need a few things."

"Amanda Waller escaped. Wow." Oliver tries to sound surprised. After all, Roy doesn't know that Felicity has already passed on the information. Nobody else - not Thea, or Nyssa, or Samantha - knows that she is in town. And Felicity wants it to stay that way. Something about being undercover. "Tell Thea that I said 'thanks' when you see her."

"She just went back to work," Roy replies. "But sure, I'll tell her." He pauses for a moment. "She said you got Felicity's computer out." 

"I needed to draft some construction plans," Oliver lies.

"Ok," Roy says. "It just seemed odd, given the timing."

"I'm ok," Oliver tries to reassure him.

"Right." Roy sounds skeptical. "Well, we were wondering if you wanted to have dinner with us tonight."

Oliver shakes his head slightly, although he knows that Roy can't see him. "Are the two of you trying to protect me?"

"Maybe?" Roy sounds like he wishes that Thea had handled this call. But Roy has an office with a door, and Thea's new business has an open floor plan. Roy always gets stuck talking to Oliver. 

"Thanks," Oliver says. "But I've got my own plans already."

"Plans?" Roy snorts. "I know it's not your week with William. You found something to watch on TV?"

"I have plans," Oliver repeats. Felicity is going to come over and go through the video analysis with him. He's cooking. And he's not supposed to tell Roy. Or Thea. Or anyone else.

"Fine," Roy relents. "But you know Thea's going to ask questions."

"I'll answer them when I'm ready," Oliver promises. "And I need to get back to work. I'm not in politics any more, you know."

"Fine," Roy says. "And for that, I won't give you a preview of the zoning vote."

"That would be illegal," Oliver reminds him. "Or at least unethical. Tell Thea thanks, and don't break any laws before dark."

"I will," Roy replies. "Tell Thea, I mean. And I won't break any laws."

The call ends, and Oliver heads to his next job.

***

There's a tapping sound on the glass, coming from outside the window. Oliver looks up, and sees Nyssa al Ghul standing on a ledge, trying to get his attention.

 _At least my friends have stopped breaking windows_ , Oliver thinks. It would be really awkward to have to replace the glass in every new house that he works on. Plus he would get blamed, what with the Green Arrow's reputation amongst the people who do glass installation. Everyone in the business gives him a hard time about his old alter ego messing up their work, anyways, no matter what he does. But it's nice to be innocent for a change.

He pushes up the sash and sticks his head out the window. "There's a balcony around the corner," he tells her. "You could come in there. Or you could use the back door."

"You did not hear me knock," Nyssa tells him. "And you are not answering your phone."

Oliver glances down and sees the missed call. "Right," he says. "The jigsaw is loud."

"I will come to the door," Nyssa replies, and drops out of sight.

Oliver brushes the sawdust from his hands and heads down to the back door. Nyssa is already there.

"What's going on?" he asks. 

"I received a message from Lyla Michaels," she tells him.

"Right," Oliver says. "Amanda Waller escaped. Thea already brought me my bow." He looks at Nyssa questioningly.

"Ah," Nyssa says. "Samantha asked me to check on you."

"Everyone thinks that I'm Waller's target," Oliver notes. "But she went after Lyla last time she was free. Why do you think Waller would come after me this time?" 

"Lyla did not tell us," Nyssa says. "I assumed that she had learned more while Amanda Waller was her prisoner."

"I don't know," Oliver replies. "But thanks for checking on me."

"You are no longer the weapon that Amanda Waller created," Nyssa says. "Be careful."

"I will," he promises.

He goes back to his work on the cabinets, but this time he keeps his phone in his pocket.

***

Half an hour later, Oliver's phone begins to vibrate. He turns off the saw, pulls out his phone, and answers.

"Oliver." John sounds worried. "Good. I was afraid you wouldn't get my call."

"My phone's in my pocket," Oliver says. "Thea left a bow for me this morning. And Nyssa al Ghul just stopped by to remind me to watch my back."

"Good," John says. "So you know about Waller."

"Yes," Oliver replies. "She escaped. And Lyla thinks she's coming after me, for some reason."

"It's good to know that the Star City network is still working, even if the Green Arrow is out of commission," John chuckles. "Lyla didn't share much intel with me - this business is above my pay grade. But she specifically asked me to check in on you."

"Things are fine here," Oliver says. "In fact, I have five different power tools that could work as deadly weapons if I need them."

"At least you're thinking," John responds.

"You know me," Oliver says. 

"Right." John doesn't sound convinced. "How's your aim throwing a screwdriver these days?"

Oliver picks one up and throws it, spinning through the air, at an extra piece of sheet rock. It misses. "Not great," he admits. "I'll practice."

"Make sure you do," John replies. "I'm on the opposite coast. Can't watch your back any more."

"The head of the League of Assassins happens to be the mother of my son," Oliver reminds him. "And her girlfriend is Nyssa al Ghul. My sister and brother-in-law are the local vigilantes. And the police chief is the Black Canary. I think Star City can deal with an AWOL Amanda Waller."

John snorts into the phone. "Yes," he says. "But you don't have Felicity. You're basically blind and deaf without her."

"I'll be fine," Oliver promises, remembering that he needs to pick up wine, and some bread and cheese, and maybe some salad makings to go with the chicken breasts that are marinating.

***

The sauce is simmering and the water is starting to boil when Oliver's phone tells him that Felicity is outside the building, waiting. He buzzes the building's door open, drops the angel hair pasta in the water, and waits for her to come upstairs.

"Wow," she says as she comes in. "This smells amazing."

Oliver grins at her and hands her a glass of wine. "I just need to toss the salad and drain the pasta, and it will be ready."

"I thought this was a work date," she jokes. "I mean, I thought we were going to go through the video and look at the ARGUS data that I've collected."

"We will," Oliver says. "But I don't get a chance to cook like this very often these days. Thea and Roy are busy, and William just wants to eat pizza all the time."

"And he doesn't like prosciutto and arugula on his pizza, either, I bet," Felicity laughs. "Well, this is nice. I just eat takeout all the time. I mean, there's great takeout in DC, so it's not like I starve. But this... is nice."

Oliver grins again and carries the pasta to the sink so he can drain it.

"Can I do anything?" Felicity asks.

"You can bring the plates over here," Oliver suggests. "We can serve ourselves from the stove. The table isn't very big."

Felicity puts down her wine glass and collects a plate of salad and pasta, then scoops sauce and chicken onto it, and heads for the table. Oliver brings over the parmesan, and then joins her.

"Mmm," she says, her mouth full. "I'd forgotten what this is like."

Oliver feels like his face might break in half from smiling so hard. "I know," he says. He lifts his glass and clinks hers, wanting to toast the present and the past and hopefully the future, but not quite willing to risk that much honesty right away.

Felicity sips her wine, swishes it thoughtfully, and takes another sip. "What is this?" she asks.

"Pinot grigio," Oliver replies. "I couldn't find the same wine that you ordered last night, but I thought this might work."

"I like it," she says. "You're right, it is similar." She looks carefully at him. "You noticed a lot more details than I realized."

He shrugs. "I might not need to be aware of danger all the time, now that I'm not the Green Arrow, but I still pay attention to things going on around me." He thinks, but doesn't say, that some details catch his attention more than others. Her fingernails, for instance, where she is holding the wine glass. They are trimmed short, and if they're painted at all, it's something that looks natural.

They eat in silence for a moment.

Felicity is the first to venture back into the conversation. "You weren't in your office today," she says.

He glances up, surprised.

"The building has security cameras," she shrugs. Of course she's monitoring those.

Oliver nods. "I work on building sites a lot," he explains. "I keep the office for accounting and design work, but a lot of the time, I'm in other places. I had some cabinets to finish and install today."

Felicity takes a sip of her wine. "What's it like, the custom carpentry business?"

He tells her about it. The work with the customers to understand what they need. The different types of jobs - he likes the shelving and cabinets, built into particular spaces, but he has made stand-alone tables and chairs and desks, too. And he's done plenty of work helping with the earlier stages of home-building - framing the house, installing sheet rock, putting on a roof. It helps that he can climb and balance on things that seem impossible, and that he can do precision work in precarious places.

"And sometimes I just lift things," he shrugs. "Somebody needs to."

Once, that would have elicited an innuendo-laced bit of teasing, but Felicity just takes another bite of her pasta.

"What's your work been like?" he asks, a little cautiously. "If you can say, that is." He knows enough about ARGUS to know how secretive they are.

She tells him a little about the coding - a new language that she needed to learn, the tricks to extracting data from ARGUS's complex file structure. He doesn't understand most of it, but that's normal, and he lets his confusion wrap around him like an old, familiar blanket.

Felicity stops talking, suddenly, when she notices the bow leaning beside the couch.

"You decided to bring some weapons home after all?" she asks.

Oliver shakes his head. "Thea brought that over," he said. "And Nyssa checked on me at work, and John called to make sure I was practicing fighting with power tools." He raises an eyebrow at her. "Any idea why Lyla wouldn't contact me directly?"

"She's had a secure way to contact Thea and Nyssa since we were traveling," Felicity says. "I helped her set that up. But yes, it's interesting that she didn't feel like she could contact you."

"You haven't talked to her?" Oliver asks.

"No," Felicity replies. "I texted her an update, but we haven't talked. We decided to avoid talking unless it was an emergency. Otherwise, it might be obvious that I wasn't a normal contractor. And whoever is involved might realize that I was still investigating." She looks at her plate. "We should probably clear the dishes so I can show you some things," she says. "I've been trying to piece together the timeline all day. I think we need to understand who the players might be, if we want to evaluate the risks."

Oliver nods, and starts moving dishes into the sink to soak.

***

"Here's what I've figured out so far." Felicity has moved several files from her laptop to the workstation, so they can both look at the larger screen.

Oliver glances through it. There are several points where he knows at least some of the story. Fall of 2009, when Waller took him to Hong Kong, and then 2010, when she took him back to Lian Yu. Before that, late 2007, when she had presumably hired Fyres to shoot down a plane. And her more recent work: the strange international incidents that John and Lyla were dragged into, in Markovia in 2014 and Kasnia in 2015. Her assistance - or threat, it was always hard to tell with Waller - against Slade Wilson's attack in 2014. Her top-secret set of launch codes designed to prevent nuclear war, which were stolen after her death in 2016. And which resulted in the destruction of Havenrock.

Felicity doesn't flinch when she pulls up the story of the launch codes. Oliver watches, but doesn't ask whether she has Waller's memories of that plan.

"I assume that Waller started working with Talia al Ghul before 2007," Felicity says. "I've been piecing together her official records, too. She had an unremarkable career until the early 2000s - low-level work in a couple different agencies. She was working abroad when 9/11 happened. Officially in the State Department, but maybe doing some clandestine work. It was hard to read between the lines. A lot of her work during the lead-up to the Iraq War is redacted in official files. But I think... I think that, at some point, she was working in China." 

Oliver glances at her. "Memories?"

Felicity nods. "If I try, I can speak Mandarin now. A little."

Oliver frowns. "But Talia also knew a lot of languages." It was an important skill for an Assassin, after all.

Felicity nods again. "But those little flashes of Mandarin, and memories of China - they're not Talia. They feel different."

"But you don't remember her meeting Talia," Oliver infers.

"No," Felicity says. "In fact, those glimpses of China are the first thing I remember from Amanda Waller."

Oliver frowns. He wants to ask more, but he's not sure that he should. After all, he was the person who decided to put Felicity into the Lazarus Pit.

"I remember when Samantha decided she wanted to become a doctor," Felicity continues. "I remember Isabel Rochev's childhood - learning to speak English, moving to the US. But from Amanda Waller? Zilch. Méiyŏu."

"Huh." Oliver replies.

"I think Talia may have put Amanda Waller in another Lazarus Pit, sometime in the early 2000s," Felicity muses. "Not the same one that I was in. Somewhere else in the world." She blinks, and it looks like she is trying to focus on something that Oliver can't see.

Oliver resists the urge to stand up and pace across the room with his fingers laced behind his head. "Did you lose...?" _Your memories_ , he thinks. _What did YOU lose in the Pit?_

She blinks again and comes back. "At first," she says. "At first I wasn't sure who I was. Thea and Nyssa - they helped me remember. But I had _too many_ people in my head." She frowns. "But Waller - it's more like she doesn't have much of herself, rather than being crowded out by all those other voices."

Oliver nods slowly. "And then after that?"

"After that - well, there still isn't much, you know. Determination. A sense of purpose. The desire to succeed in getting to the end, regardless of the means." She thinks. "It's different from Samantha and me. And Isabel. And Talia. We all wanted to live. But Waller wanted to win."

"That would explain why she wanted me to learn to torture," Oliver says. "It was a way to win, regardless of the costs. But I only saw her immediate goals. I never understood what her end game was."

"And that's the part that we need to figure out," Felicity finishes. "Because there are other people - in ARGUS, or maybe somewhere else in the government - who want the same thing that she did. Does. Maybe."

"And you know this because someone was tracking you," Oliver says. "Digitally. You said as much last night."

"Right," Felicity agrees.

"I don't understand why you couldn't track them back," Oliver says. _Unless somehow she's not the same Felicity, the one who could do anything on a computer?_

"It's partly that they're just plain good," Felicity says. "But also... not all the problems were digital. Like, some of the records were on paper - photos that had been printed, or paper documents. And the files would just be missing."

Oliver nods. He has run across problems like that with paper files.

"It wasn't just sloppy filing, either. Lyla had to go through channels to get permission to do a lot of things. Especially anything that used _resources_. Including her time, and my time, and even time on the computers. And we would have permission one day... and then the next day, the permission would be revoked." She shook her head. "Bureaucracy. I don't understand how anyone could work in government." She glances back at Oliver. "You remember what it was like, dealing with City Council."

"Yes," Oliver says. And he is relieved to hear that she remembers, too. "So you think there's someone higher up - one of Lyla's bosses - who is involved in this?"

"Either that, or someone who works for them," Felicity replies. "There are one hundred senators, and at least one of them got Waller to cover up his dirty work. There are god-knows-how-many generals, and at least one of them wanted to kill everyone in Hong Kong, and another one wanted his own pet nuke." She pauses. "You remember the nuke, right? In Russia?"

Oliver breathes out. "Yes," he says. "I remember that nuke." _And I remember how worried I was that we would die, that YOU would die_ , he thinks. _I remember how it felt to hold you when we thought it was over._

Felicity pauses and blinks again. "Right," she says. "Anyway, there are a lot of people who have power over Lyla. People who want to use ARGUS to win whatever games they're playing. People who were probably disappointed when Amanda Waller died, and Lyla took over."

"So... how do we figure out who they are?" Oliver asks.

Felicity smiles. "We do image analysis. A lot of image analysis." She clicks to another window and types something that looks like gibberish. "Before I left ARGUS, I put together a database of photos of every person who works there. I also have photos of the entire US military, and everyone in the CIA and the State Department, and every Congressional aide. And now, I'm going to cross-reference them with the security camera footage from every airport with flights that connect to Star City. If Lyla's right about you being threatened, someone will be coming here." She taps a key, and lines of text scroll down the screen. "I could show the images, but this is faster," she says. "Plus, now we can check today's videos from my hotel and your apartment."

Oliver's apartment complex had been quiet. People went to work, came home at lunch, left again. An appliance repairman showed up, and one of Oliver's neighbors buzzed him up. Some packages arrived by Fed Ex, but every one of them was picked up by someone who appeared to be expecting it. One of the neighbors showed up in the middle of the afternoon, followed by a stranger... 

"If I were blackmailing people, I'd mark that one," Felicity comments. "Interesting that the alert didn't catch it." She glances at Oliver. "I trained the facial recognition on old surveillance video. This isn't the first visit."

But the stranger - or not a stranger - left again, followed by the neighbor. A stray cat chased a rat out of the garbage. And then everything was quiet until people got home from work.

Felicity looks at Oliver. "Clear?" she asks.

"Looks normal to me," Oliver agrees. "What about your hotel?"

Felicity taps another key, and a new window opens.

Several people rolled luggage out of their rooms. A family left, and came back carrying one of the children plus a giant plush meerkat, probably from the zoo. The cleaning staff worked their way down the hall, replacing towels and sheets. People with suitcases arrived and moved into their rooms. A man wearing dark glasses wandered down the hall, looked both ways, and shot the lock off of Felicity's door...

"Um," Oliver says. "When was that?"

Felicity scrolls back and looks at the time stamp. "Fifteen minutes ago." She slows down the footage. "I can't get a good look at his face," she says. "I'll run the facial recognition algorithm, but I don't know if I'll get anything. It's as if he knew that the cameras would be there."

"There's a bigger problem," Oliver says. "He just broke into your hotel room." He frowns. "Whoever is working with Waller - they know you're here."

Felicity grimaces. "And after avoiding Thea and Nyssa and Samantha and John for two years, so nobody would know what I look like." She stops and thinks. "Though maybe they were after Meghan Jones, former ARGUS consultant. Maybe they don't know who I was, or what I can do."

"Even so," Oliver stops. Yes, a suggestion immediately popped into his mind. No, he isn't sure it's a good idea. He looks at Felicity and decides to mention it, anyway. "Someone broke into your hotel room," he says. "I don't think you should go back there tonight."

Felicity nods. "Fortunately, I didn't leave anything important there," she says. "I washed my dirty clothes yesterday, and my suitcase doesn't have any identifying information in it. I even made sure there wasn't any hair in the shower or saliva on the sink." She looks at the screen. "And the SCPD has been in my room for five minutes already. Their response time is good these days." She glances at Oliver. "The intruder left quickly when he saw that I wasn't there. I don't think he had time to gather anything that he could use for DNA analysis. If he even was thinking about that possibility in the first place. I mean, I would think about it. But most people aren't me."

Oliver shifts his weight to his other foot. Maybe she didn't hear the question.

"I keep some clean clothes with me - always - for situations like this." She looks at her laptop bag, then back at him. "I agree, Oliver. I think I should probably stay here tonight."

Oliver's heart does backflips, but he tries not to show it. "I'll find an extra set of sheets for the couch," he says.


	5. I... mother? hacker? secret identity girl?

We go through the image analysis a few times, but we don't figure out who my intruder is. Maybe the other processes that are running, comparing all the photos with security cameras in airports between DC and Star City, will be more useful. But they won't have results until morning.

We wash the dishes and put the leftovers in the refrigerator. I glance at the bottle of wine, considering another glass, but decide to re-cork it and leave it for another time. Yes, it was good. No, I don't want my head to be fuzzy. Not with some mysterious friend of Amanda Waller's hunting for me.

Oliver's bow still leans against the wall in the corner, and I have to step past it to turn the sofa into a bed. Oliver apologizes and puts it in a closet, then helps me with the sheets.

We say good night from opposite sides of the couch. He goes into the bedroom, closes the door, and turns out the light. I wait until he's gone, then take off my shoes, pants, and finally my blouse and bra. I pull a t-shirt over my head, make sure my belongings are organized and collected in case I need to fight off an intruder in the middle of the night, and climb onto the couch.

It takes a while, but eventually I fall asleep.

If I dream, I don't remember it.

***

My phone buzzes, and I sit up, not sure where I am.

Oh. Oliver's apartment. On the sofa bed. I turn off the alarm, grab my clothes, and head into the bathroom for a shower. Oliver probably won't come out until he knows that I'm ready, but I don't want to take a chance. No need to make this any more awkward than it already is.

I pull off my shirt and underwear, grab a bottle of shampoo, and turn on the water. I just stand there for a moment, collecting myself, cataloging my memories. Even after two years, the water reminds me of coming back to life in the Lazarus Pit. Most of the time I can manage it. At least I haven't had the urge to kill someone in forever.

My short hair doesn't take long to wash. Oliver has soap, which is good, because I was relying on the hotel's tiny bars. (I threw them into the dumpster down the street every day. No, that isn't ecologically sustainable. Yes, it's paranoid. But I've been working with Lyla; I know that sometimes there actually are people who are out to get you.)

All that remembering may have made the shower take longer than it otherwise would have. I need to find a towel, dry off, and pull on some clothes. There's a little linen closet in the wall beside the toilet, and I open it to look for a towel. I take one of the small ones - not Oliver's favorite fluffy one, I remember that much about living in harmony with him - and dry my hair, then the rest of my body. I pull on my clean clothes, then shut the linen closet door.

And that's when I see it, tucked away on the side of a shelf beside the extra hand towels. The light glints from the fragments of old arrowheads.

The mobile that Oliver made. From my calculations. To hang above the baby's crib.

It's here. It's still here.

I step back, trying not to sob, and knock a candle off of the back of the toilet. I pick it up and put it back where it belongs, gather my sleep clothes and my hair brush and the other physical fragments of me that are strewn around the bathroom and open the door...

Oliver is standing there, dressed in a t-shirt and sweat pants, hand raised as if to knock. He freezes. "Sorry, I heard something crash and I wanted to make sure everything was ok..." He looks at my face. "Felicity?"

I breathe a few more times. In. Out. I am here. This is me.

He opens his mouth as if to say something. I turn back to the bathroom and grab the mobile from the shelf and show it to him.

His face crumples. "I forgot where I'd put that," he says.

It flashes and sparkles in the light.

_'The amazing thing about mobiles is that they're all just physics and math,' I told him. 'It all depends on the weight of the hanging things.'_

_He gently took the arrowhead and threaded a wire through the tiny hole that he had machined, measured the length, and tied off the wire. 'That's one,' he said._

_I rattled off another measurement. 'It has to be balanced perfectly if it's going to work,' I remind him._

_'I know,' he said. 'Good thing we know all about balance.'_

_'Maybe you do, Mr. Parkour-with-Arrows,' I grumbled. 'I'm so pregnant that I can barely climb into a car without tipping over'._

_He laughed, and put the mobile down, and bent over to kiss me._

I look at the mobile, and then at Oliver. "What happened to the other things?" I ask him. "The crib you built. The changing table."

Oliver grimaces. "I turned the slats on the crib into arrows," he says. "When John and Roy and I went after Amanda Waller when we first found out she was alive."

"Oh." Now I remember. I was there. I pulled a knife on Oliver. In my defense, my blood lust had been at its worst at the time. "But the rest of it...?"

"I rebuilt it." Oliver looks away. "Donated it to a family that was moving into one of the first apartment complexes that I worked on. I took down the bookshelves later. The bookshelves, and the changing table. I rebuilt them for another family." He pauses. "Roy and Thea suggested that I move into a new place, and to pass the baby things on to someone else." Someone who could use them, I think he means.

I nod, then turn away. "I'm going to make some tea," I tell him. "Do you want anything?"

"I don't think I have any tea," he says. "Just coffee."

"I've got my own stash," I tell him. "Do you have honey?"

He leads the way into the kitchen. "It's up here," he tells me, grabbing the jar and bringing it down. "I keep it here for Thea, but I don't use it very much."

"Thanks," I say, and start filling a pot with water.

He pauses awkwardly behind me. "Do you want some breakfast...?" he asks.

I glance over my shoulder at him. "In a bit. You can have a turn in the shower first."

He nods and walks back into the main room. I look away to turn on the stove, then look back across the island to see him holding the mobile.

"I'll put this back," he says.

"Don't," I tell him. "I'd... like to look at it some more."

He looks like he wants to say something else, but instead, he picks up his clothes and heads into the bathroom.

***

Oliver's shower takes a lot less time than I expect. Though I haven't really been paying attention to the clock as I sip my tea and examine the mobile. It isn't just arrowheads, I remember that much - there are tumbled and polished fragments of glass that we had picked up on beaches or swept out of the bunker, keepsakes from the many times we had been attacked. Little pieces of memories, carefully balanced against each other, ready to reflect light onto the walls and ceiling.

He goes into the kitchen and begins making something. Coffee, at least. And something on the stove, savory, with lots of vegetables. At least, that's what it probably is, based on the sound of the knife on the cutting board. When it's finished, he brings me a plate, then sets his food on the table beside me.

"I made some coffee," he says tentatively. "Do you want any? Or just tea? I've got sugar for the coffee."

I shake my head. "I like this tea," I tell him. It helps to keep me grounded in the here and now. I'm already at risk of drowning in my memories.

He takes a bite of his scramble, then waits for me to start eating. After a moment, I do. It's exquisite. I give him a little smile to thank him. He smiles back, carefully. 

I take another bite, and another. Oliver does the same, still watching me.

Finally, I put down my fork. "You look like you want to say something," I tell him.

He gives a little half-shrug.

"Go ahead," I say.

"I was wondering..." he stops, shakes his head, starts over. "We buried the baby in my old family plot," he says. "Thea and Roy thought it would be good for me to do something. We had a little ceremony. That's when Dinah and Rene came back to the city, too - I think Thea reached out to them." He stops, as if the words have gotten away from him. "What I mean is... would you like to visit the grave?"

My mind can't figure out what to say, but my head is nodding. My body, at least, wishes that it could have some closure.

Oliver releases the breath that he has been holding. "It's usually good to go out there early in the morning," he says. "It's Saturday, and sometimes there are people around in the afternoon. The property's on the market again, you know."

I don't trust my voice, so I just nod again.

***

It's sunny out when we get there. The lawn where Moira Queen's funeral took place is empty. She would hate the way the weeds have replaced the carefully manicured grass. But Moira remains silent, there beneath her headstone. And there isn't anyone in either of the adjacent graves - Robert's body is on Lian Yu, and mine... well, I'm still wearing mine.

The baby's headstone is smaller than the others, on the far end of the plot from Moira's. Beside mine. I stand there, staring at it. It doesn't seem real. I remember being pregnant, rolling onto my side to try to sleep, joking about how I really should have expected that Oliver's child would jump around in my uterus every night at 2 am. I remember the sharp pain of labor, and the gush of my water breaking. I remember the lights in the delivery room, and joking about getting the good drugs, and the worry on the faces of the nurse and the doctor when they decided that I needed a C-section.

I remember dying. I remember coming back to life in the Lazarus Pit.

I don't remember the baby.

Oliver isn't beside me. I don't know how I know this - I'm staring at the headstone. Maybe it's my peripheral vision, which has actually been good ever since the Lazarus Pit fixed my myopia. Maybe it's the old intuition about him, the feel of extra warmth when he is nearby, the chill when he is missing.

And then, suddenly, he is back, pressing a clod of dirt into my hand. I nod thanks at him, and toss it onto the grass that covers the tiny grave. And then I just stand there again.

I don't know when I reach for his hand. But it's there, wrapping around mine, not tightening until I pull him closer.

I look up at him. He's strangely blurry, as if I need my glasses all of a sudden, and I realize that I'm crying. I blink the tears out of my eyes, and see that he is crying, too.

I move closer, until I'm standing in front of him, and he lets go of my hand so he can wrap his arms around me. I turn, and nestle my face into his collar, and hold him tight until my body finally stops shuddering with tears. He pulls me in closer.

We stand there for what feels like hours.

Finally, we pull apart and walk back to his car. I don't let go of his hand until he needs it for the gear shift.

***

We need to deal with my hotel. Someone broke into my room, and then I didn't return at all that night.

I have an idea for an excuse for my overnight absence.

Oliver looks skeptical about my suggestion.

"I don't take random women home with me," he argues. "I haven't been that person for a long time."

But I think that I could probably play the Walk of Shame reasonably well. And even if Oliver doesn't think he's that person, he's still attractive enough to make the situation plausible. Still, he stays in the car, trying to be anonymous and a playboy at the same time. I get out of the car and try to walk like I'm making the best of an embarrassing situation.

I stop at the desk. "I'd like to check out," I tell the receptionist.

She looks at the room number on the little envelope that holds my card, then types something into the computer. Her eyes widen for a moment, and then she plasters on a smile.

"Would you like to keep it on your credit card, or use a different one?" she asks.

"On my card, please," I say.

She types again, then frowns. "I'm sorry," she says. "It's not going through. Do you have another one?"

I work my way through my wallet. She offers to let me call the credit card company. Oliver texts me, asking if things are ok. I glance around the lobby, wondering if last night's intruder is behind this, when Oliver texts me again.

_SCPD. I'm going to pull around to the parking lot and come in the back._

I don't have time to respond, because two of Star City's finest are there beside me.

"Ms. Jones?" one of them asks. "There was a problem in your hotel room last night. Would you might coming down to the station to answer some questions?"

I don't really have any choice but to go with them.

***

Dinah Drake looks up when I walk past her, then does a subtle double-take. "Who's this?" she asks.

"Meghan Jones," the officer replies. "She's the one who was staying in that hotel room that was broken into last night."

Dinah looks at me carefully. "Let me handle this one," she says.

The officers look at one another and shrug.

She leads the way to the interview room - the same one that I used to know well, from the days when Quentin Lance wanted to interrogate Oliver every year. She gestures for me to sit, shuts the door, and shakes her head at me.

"Felicity Smoak," she says.

"You've got the wrong person," I reply, glancing at the cameras that I know are there.

"The video's off," Dinah says. "We're not being recorded. So you can tell me what you're doing here... given that you died two years ago."

I nod, acknowledging that she's got me. "How much do you know about Lazarus Pits?" I ask her.

She raises her eyebrows. "Who are you trying to kill?" she asks. "Or who have you killed already, given that someone tried to break into your hotel room?"

"I'm past the blood lust," I assure her.

She nods. "I hope that's true." She frowns at me. "So when your body disappeared from the hospital morgue, Oliver took it and put you in a Lazarus Pit?"

"Exactly," I reply.

"But you didn't come back with him," she observes.

"I wanted to kill him," I tell her. "I did have blood lust, at the time, and he was my target. Coming back to Star City seemed like a bad idea."

"What were you doing while you were away?" Dinah asks. "And why did you come back now?"

"At first, I was on the run from all the other people who came out of the Pit, and from everything that was left of the League of Assassins," I tell her. "Thea and Nyssa were with me. When Samantha Clayton took over the League, I went to work for Lyla Michaels, looking for information about the last remaining person who was brought back in the Pit." I look at her to gauge her reaction. "Amanda Waller. You never met her. If you had, you wouldn't like her."

"I know _of_ her," Dinah says. "Lyla Michaels' former boss. Knew Oliver fairly well at one point." She pauses. "Reputation for being merciless, even before the Pit. Does _she_ have blood lust?"

"I don't know," I admit. "She was in ARGUS custody for two years."

" _Was_ ," Dinah notes. "Past tense. She's out now? Is that why you came back - you're following her?"

"Yes, she's out now," I reply. "No, I'm not following her. I came back before she escaped."

"So that brings me back to my original question. Why have you come back to Star City?" Dinah leans against the table.

"Like I said, I was looking for information about Waller," I say. "Her records at ARGUS are pretty highly redacted. So I decided that I needed to get information from someone who knew her when she was doing things off-the-record."

"Oliver," Dinah said. "Except you said you wanted to kill him. Or didn't want to kill him. It wasn't entirely clear."

I nod. "I've got the blood lust under control. I don't want to kill Oliver anymore."

"Well, that's good," Dinah says. "I really don't need a murder investigation in which my friends are both suspect and victim." She walks around the table and picks up a file. "Speaking of investigations. Why did someone break into your hotel room?"

"I don't know," I tell her. "I thought he might have been one of Waller's accomplices - even before she got out, it was clear that there was someone who didn't want Lyla and I to investigate her. But I've looked at the security footage, and it's not clear enough to match the face."

"Did he take anything?" Dinah isn't surprised that I've been doing my own forensic work.

"I didn't go back to the room," I tell her. "I kept my things with me after Waller got out, in case something like this happened."

"So where were you, when you didn't go back to the hotel?" Dinah frowns at me, like I'm a puzzle with a couple missing pieces.

"I stayed in Oliver's apartment," I reply.

"Oliver's apartment?" Dinah shakes her head. "I guess you _really_ aren't interested in killing him anymore."

"It's not like that," I insist. "I was being cautious."

"And you couldn't stay with, say, Thea? Or Nyssa?" She gives me a sidelong look. "You said that they both know you're alive."

"They know that Felicity Smoak is alive," I correct her. "They don't know that Meghan Jones exists."

"The hair threw me off for a second, but it isn't going to fool most people," Dinah said. "It isn't much of a secret identity. Especially if you're spending your nights with Oliver Queen."

"It was just one night," I argue. 

"And you came back to Star City to talk to him," she points out. "And you didn't tell any of the other people that you know." She shakes her head. "Look, Felicity, I never knew you particularly well, so I don't blame you for leaving me out of your secrets. But someone tried to break into your hotel room, and a formerly dead and potentially homicidal ex-head of ARGUS is on the loose, too. It sounds like your mission has followed you to Star City. And you're trying to keep a secret identity by spending the night with your ex-husband." She raises her eyebrows at me. "I don't think your secret is going to be safe for very long." 

"Technically, he's my widower, not my ex-husband," I grumble. But she does have a point.

"So you don't have any leads about the break-in at the hotel," Dinah says.

"None." I shrug.

"Well, let me know if you learn anything more. The city has a lot of people looking after it, now that the League of Assassins has set themselves up as good guys. But a rogue government agent could throw everything out of whack." She stands, and leads the way to the door.

I follow her into the hall. Oliver is standing there, looking worried. Dinah looks from him to me and back again.

"You two are so far past the fake-relationship trope," she says. "Just... do whatever you're going to do, but don't kill each other, and avoid bringing trouble into the city. Ok?" 

Oliver blinks. I grab his hand and pull him with me as I leave the station.

We get into Oliver's car before we talk any more.

"She knows," I tell him. "She knew me right away."

Oliver cracks a grin at me. "Maybe you need a domino mask."

I swat him on the arm. "Let's go back to your place and see what our big image search turned up," I tell him. "I want to know who we're up against."


	6. Oliver

Felicity and Oliver sit in front of Oliver's little bedroom desk and go through the results from the long image search, trying to figure out who might be coming after them.

There are a lot of options.

Five different high-ranking military officers. Three employees of the State Department, and at least one possible CIA operative. Twenty different congressional aides. All on flights that went through Star City in the past 48 hours.

"I know those guys," Oliver says, pointing at two of them.

Felicity sits up. "Yes?"

"They were interns in City Hall. Wanted a career in government. Their families live here."

Felicity shakes her head. "So coming home for a weekend makes sense." 

Oliver sighs. "Yes," he agrees.

Felicity frowns at the screen. "I've got a database of ARGUS contacts from Amanda Waller's time as director," she says. "I'll cross-reference our list with that database. And I'll do another search, to see if there are any connections to all the people who approved my expenses at ARGUS. And the people who work for them, because it's always possible that they're passing information to others. Don't ever discount the admin assistants." 

Oliver winces. "Did I ever tell you that I was sorry about asking you to be my assistant? Years ago, at Queen Consolidated? Because I am. I shouldn't have done that."

She glances over her shoulder at him. "I don't remember everything," she admits. "So I don't know if you apologized before. But thank you. I appreciate it." She types a few more commands, then rolls her shoulders. "Is it ok if I make some tea? These processes will take a while to run."

Oliver follows her into the kitchen and pulls down two mugs while she puts water into a pot.

"Nyssa trained Thea and I to boil water without burning it," she jokes.

Oliver sets the mugs beside her with a smile.

"You want to try some of Nyssa's magic tea?" she asks. "Well, it isn't actually _magic_. It's not like it uses water from the Lazarus Pit or anything."

"I would love to try some," Oliver says. "Would you teach me how to make it?"

"Sure," she says. "What do you have for spices?" She peers into the cupboard and pulls out several jars.

"Some of those are pretty old," Oliver apologizes. "I don't experiment with my cooking as much as I used to."

"That's fine, these will do," Felicity replies. "Is there more honey anywhere? This jar is almost empty."

Oliver looks over her head into the back of the cupboard. "I'm out," he says. "I need to get more."

"Oh," she says. "I don't think it will be as good if I just use sugar."

"There's a little store a couple blocks from here," Oliver suggests. "I can run down and see if they have any." 

"I'll come with you," she says, turning off the stove. "I usually go for walks while my processes are running."

** 

The streets are quiet on the way to the shop. It isn't a big place - most of its business is beer and cigarettes (or vaping supplies, which Oliver remembers that he needs to discuss with William). But it carries necessities, too - toothpaste and toilet paper and sugar and a few types of canned goods. And honey, usually.

They find a plastic bottle shaped like a bear, pay for it, and head back to the apartment. The sky has turned grey again, and they walk faster, hoping to get indoors before the rain begins.

That is probably the reason why they don't notice the man wearing sunglasses and a trench coat until he steps out of the doorway and starts walking towards Felicity. She stops, glances across the street, and reaches into her bag.

She pulls out the honey, swears, and digs deeper. Oliver steps between her and the stranger.

"Can I help you?" Oliver asks.

The man reaches into his pocket for something, and Oliver immediately punches him. He stumbles, and Felicity is suddenly there, pointing her gun at the threat. 

"Who are you?" she asks. "And who sent you? ARGUS? Some corrupt general? Waller's handler?"

He shakes his head, and holds out something.

Oliver stands over him and growls. "She asked you a question."

The man's hand shakes, and then his head explodes.

Felicity sticks her gun back into her bag. "That is not a helpful solution to the problem," she says. She pulls out a pair of gloves and bends down to take the card from the dead man's hand. "Do you still have a direct number for Dinah?" she asks Oliver. "She's not going to be pleased about this, but the least we can do is let her know about the exploding-head guy before the beat cops find him."

Oliver nods, and pulls out his phone. Dinah answers immediately. Felicity's right - Dinah isn't pleased. But she's willing to deal with the mess, and she doesn't expect Oliver and Felicity to come in for questioning. At least not officially.

"Keep me in the loop about this," Dinah orders him. "I want to know about threats _before_ they're about to destroy the city."

"Right," Oliver says. "Will do." 

"And tell your sister and brother-in-law about what's going on," Dinah suggests. "And Samantha and Nyssa. Just because you've got your moral-compass-slash-tech-support back doesn't mean you're the Green Arrow any more."

Oliver thinks that isn't entirely fair. He did drop the guy with one punch, after all.

"I mean it, Oliver," Dinah says. "The city doesn't need an out-of-practice retired hero causing problems."

"Fine," he says.

"I do appreciate the heads-up," Dinah says. "The SCPD will take care of the body, and investigate the situation."

"Wait," Felicity says. "Don't end the call yet. Dinah?"

"Hi," Dinah replies. "Meghan?" 

"Yes." Felicity nods at the phone. "That's the name you should use."

"Noted," Dinah replies. "What do you need?"

"DNA results," Felicity says. "He doesn't have any identifying information on him. I need to know who this is if I want to know who he was working for."

"I'll trade you DNA results for info from your facial recognition work," Dinah offers. 

Felicity glances at her phone. She's been taking pictures of the scene, probably for exactly the kind of work that Dinah suspects she's going to do. "Fine," Felicity says. "It's a deal. But I'll need the DNA results in order to find out anything else."

"I'll get them to you as soon as I can," Dinah promises. "Both of you take care of yourselves, ok? And make Oliver behave himself."

Oliver watches Felicity put the gloves and the honey back into her bag, shuffling things around so the gun will remain accessible but hidden, and thinks that Dinah is not reading the situation accurately at all.

***

The apartment door is unlocked when they get back. Felicity pulls out her gun and holds it in a safe ready position, pointed down, finger beside the trigger guard. She may have only been shooting in the ARGUS range, but she has practiced her gun handling. She nods to Oliver, and he moves to the other side of the door, then pushes it quickly open.

An arrow flies out and knocks Felicity's gun half-loose.

Oliver moves quickly into view, hands up. "Thea!" he says. "It's ok. Don't shoot us."

Thea moves away from her spot in the kitchen, where she could see the door but remain concealed herself. "Who's..." she stops, staring past Oliver. "Felicity?"

Felicity stuffs the gun back into her bag. "Hey, Thea!"

"No," Thea says. "Not _Hey Thea_. You're back in town, with a hair color that I've never seen on you before, and you're with my brother, and you _didn't tell me any of this???_ " 

"Sorry?" Felicity tries. "And it's my natural hair color, you actually have seen it, back when it was growing out."

"Sorry doesn't cover half of it," Thea grumbles. "Ollie, Roy heard something on a police scanner about a guy whose head blew up a few blocks from your place. Roy couldn't get out, because he had to go to a meeting, so I came here, because Amanda Waller is free and we were worried about you." She turns toward Felicity. "And we were using the scanner because the one thing that Roy and I aren't particularly good at is technology. And all this time you've been here? With my brother? And you're carrying a gun and you somehow haven't killed Ollie yet?"

"I've only been here for a few days," Felicity says. "And I got the gun from Lyla. I've been working for her, as a contractor. Sorry I didn't tell you, but I was trying to help her figure out who Waller's friends were, and I didn't want people to know that I'm me. Being dead is a pretty good disguise." 

"Until you move back in with your ex-husband," Thea points out. "I saw new shampoo in the bathroom. You're not using the same brand any more."

"I'm pretending to be dead," Felicity repeats.

"By hiding from the friends that you've been calling to work through all your memory issues." Thea shakes her head. "Does Nyssa know? Or Samantha?" 

Felicity looks sheepish. "No."

"I'm not sure if I'm relieved that I'm not the only one who was left out, or annoyed that you wouldn't trust any of your friends enough to tell us what you're doing." Thea glares at her.

"Lyla knows," Felicity says. "Mostly. She knew I was going to question Oliver."

"Well, that's good. But I can't believe John kept your work a secret all this time." Thea sighs dramatically.

"Lyla and I never told John," Felicity admits.

"Seriously?" She shakes her head again. "Ollie, did you happen to trade brains with Felicity or something? Because this is the kind of stunt that you used to pull on all of us."

Oliver opens his mouth, then realizes that he doesn't have any response, so he closes it again.

"Ok," Felicity says. "I'm here now, in Star City. I was working with Lyla, and now I'm working with Oliver to try and figure out what Amanda Waller wanted fifteen years ago, and what she might want now. Waller escaped from ARGUS, and a man broke into my hotel room, and I decided to stay with Oliver until we figured out what was going on, and the guy just showed up on the street, gave me his card, and then his head blew up. Our list of people who might be connected to Waller is really long, and we need to figure out who this guy was and what he wanted from me, because we don't know what's going to happen next. Ok?"

Thea blinks. "Yeah. Ok." She finally puts her bow on the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room. "By the way, your computer has been beeping ever since I got in here. I closed the bedroom door to keep it quiet, but you might want to check it out."

*** 

Felicity looks at the lines of text on the screen. Oliver and Thea peer over her shoulder, wondering exactly what the letters and numbers mean.

"These come from ARGUS's financial records, plus some related transactions, like phone records," Felicity explains. "This section shows the people associated with the government and the military who traveled to the Star City airport - and nearby airports - since Amanda Waller's death. And this other stuff is the connections between the two sets."

Oliver frowns. The window is completely filled with text. "That... seems like a lot?"

"It _is_ a lot," Felicity confirms. "Some of the connections look legitimate. Some look shady. Some people were paid by ARGUS, and some of these are payments going the other way, to ARGUS employees from people on the outside. And pretty much everyone was up to something."

"What you saying?" Thea asks.

"I have no idea which one of them might be connected to our dead friend," Felicity says. 

"What was that card that he was trying to give you?" Oliver asks.

"Oh," Felicity says. "I almost forgot about that." She pulls it out and shows it to them. It's just a string of numbers and periods. "This is an IP address."

"A who?" Thea asks.

"An IP address. The location of a computer. Not the physical location, but the networked location." Felicity opens up another window.

"So you're going to go there and see what it is...?" Thea asks.

"Of course not," Felicity replies. "First, I can't actually 'go there,' though I can try to figure out what it is. Second, if it has anything that faces the public at all, it could contain malicious code that infects anyone who visits." She types a few things. "I'm going to find out everything I can about it without actually connecting to it."

Oliver and Thea look at each other while Felicity types one command, then another. Finally, Felicity looks back at them.

"Its physical location is in Kasnia. Which is bad news from a hacking standpoint - a lot of identity-theft rings, and other problems, trace back there. I think the country's entire economy might be based on bitcoin mining and e-mail scams right now. But any of that - identity theft, bitcoin mining, whatever - would require a lot of activity, and this address doesn't get much traffic," she says. "None, actually. Usually malicious code sends information to something else. Though sometimes it installs itself on another host and then waits. Like a parasite laying its eggs."

Thea wrinkles her nose. "I didn't need that image." 

"Sorry," Felicity says, and starts typing some more.

"What are you doing now?" Thea asks.

"I'm writing my own bit of code. If whatever's at this address tries to do anything to my machine, I'm shutting it down. And I'm installing my own code that will collect every keystroke on that computer and save it for when I want to retrieve it." She types a few more lines, and presses ENTER. "Here goes nothing."

The window remains dark. And then, suddenly, text appears.

It says ' _We understand you need work. We would like to hire you. Please enter a secure contact number where you can receive more information.'_

***

"What kind of nutcase offers someone a job by sending an exploding messenger?" Thea asks.

"He shot a hole in Felicity's hotel room door first," Oliver adds.

Felicity frowns. "Are they offering the job to Felicity Smoak, or to Meghan Jones?" 

Oliver and Thea both stare at her.

"This is obviously an offer that I can't refuse," she says. "If I don't respond, I'll get a horse's head in my bed." She looks at Oliver. "That's a reference to..."

"The _Godfather_ movies," Oliver says. "I know." He looks from Felicity to Thea and back again. "Oh, come on. I was involved with Russian organized crime. Of course I know those movies." Anatoly had had copies that were dubbed into Russian. He made Oliver watch them with him. It was some kind of drinking game. Involving vodka, of course. Oliver had gotten very drunk.

"That doesn't mean that Felicity should take the job," Thea says. "Or even send a response."

"I could wait and see what my little malware infection collects," Felicity says. "There wasn't anything on the site that would tell the owners that the message was read." 

***

Thea stays until Felicity finishes making the nearly forgotten tea. In fact, she absolutely refuses to leave until Oliver and Felicity have talked to Roy and explained what is going on, and until she manages to extract a promise that they will call Nyssa and Samantha soon. Tonight. ASAP.

When she's finally gone, Felicity slumps into Oliver's recliner and closes her eyes. Oliver watches her for a moment. She looks exhausted. Not surprising, Oliver thinks. Coming back from the dead, needing to explain herself to every person she had once known... _that is what it's like_ , he thinks. He retreats into the kitchen to wash up the mugs from their tea, and the breakfast dishes that are still in the sink. When he's done, he looks over at her to see how she is doing.

She is sound asleep. Head turned to the side. Drooling a little.

Oliver smiles, and goes to look for their old green afghan to tuck around her.


	7. I, making choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sex is at the end of the chapter.

My phone is buzzing. I fumble for it on the table beside the bed, but my hand grabs the armrest of a chair, instead. I sit up, bleary-eyed, not sure exactly where I am. Maybe it's the loft, and I'll need to call Oliver to help me into my wheelchair. Maybe it's our apartment, and I've fallen asleep while William works on his homework.

I open my eyes, and realize that I can see without grabbing my glasses, and my eyes don't have that crusty, itchy feeling that they get when I fall asleep in my contacts. Plus the room is small, and the recliner faces a kitchen table.

Right. I've been dead, and then not-dead, and Amanda Waller is alive and has escaped from ARGUS and I was offered a job by a man whose head exploded. 

Good thing I remembered that last part, because my phone is buzzing with a call from Dinah Drake.

"Hi," I answer. "Sorry. I was asleep."

"Didn't mean to wake you," Dinah says. "Thought you might want these DNA results. But if this is a bad time..."

I glance at the clock on my phone. It's 5 pm - a totally reasonable time to call. "It's fine," I tell her. "I was just tired."

"Ok." She still sounds as if she's worried that she interrupted something. "The results are interesting. Your friend's name is Marvin Miller."

"Why's that interesting?" I ask.

"Because he's been missing for four years. Assumed to be dead. Former military from about ten years ago, came back, been in and out of trouble. Stopped for DUI, put in jail to sober up, disappeared." Dinah waits for my reaction.

"Sounds like Amanda Waller, doesn't it?" I ask.

"Except that this happened four years ago," Dinah says. "Amanda Waller died five years ago."

"So either she came out of the Lazarus Pit a long time ago, or someone else has been collecting criminals and putting bombs in their heads," I finish.

"Exactly," Dinah says. "Like I said. Interesting. Any news from your searching? Or have you been too busy... sleeping." There's a hint of innuendo there.

Oliver chooses that moment to come out of the bedroom. He has a pencil stuck behind his ear, and a pad of paper in his hands. "Hey," he says. "You're awake."

"Dinah's on the phone," I tell him. "Our exploding friend disappeared from prison four years ago."

"Have you two had time to do any facial recognition work? Or have you been busy?" It sounds like Dinah is smirking.

I try to remember what we had been doing before I fell asleep. Tea. Thea. Job offer. Facial recognition results... "There are a lot of people with shady ties to ARGUS who have come through the Star City airport recently," I tell Dinah. "I haven't been able to narrow down any suspects." 

"Should you tell her about...?" Oliver asks. 

"I heard that," Dinah says. "The phone's on speaker, you know." 

"Right," I say. Because we were on speaker when we talked to Roy. "There was one other weird thing. The exploding guy gave me a card with an IP address... and it led me to a job offer."

"A what now?" Dinah does the verbal equivalent of a double-take.

"A job offer. From whoever sent the exploding guy," I repeat.

"A job offer." Dinah sounds thoughtful. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know," I reply. "I infected the site with some custom malware. I should be able to see when anyone interacts with it. Including reading their key strokes. But there might not be any immediate results."

"Or the people behind this might be waiting impatiently while you two had an afternoon... nap." Dinah says. "Let me know what you're planning to do before you do it, ok? If they try to make you destroy the world, or the Internet, or Star City, I'd like to prepare for it ahead of time."

"I promise to tell you what I decide," I tell her. "Bye." I disconnect.

Oliver looks at me a bit awkwardly. Right. Dinah assumes that we've spent the afternoon having sex. Which we haven't. I just slept in his recliner with our old afghan - which I hadn't even realized was in the apartment, and which Oliver must have found and tucked around me...

I try to stop thinking. 

"Are you hungry?" Oliver asks.

I think he's just trying to fill the silence, but then my stomach growls. "My body says yes," I tell him.

He glances away. Looking at the refrigerator. Right. Not avoiding my eyes. "How do you feel about leftovers?" he asks. "There's still plenty of stuff for salad, and we could split up the last chicken breast and sauce, and I can make some more pasta pretty easily..."

"Leftovers would be great," I tell him. "I don't really feel like going out again."

"Me either," he says. "Would you like some more of that wine while I heat things up?"

"That would be lovely," I reply. "Thank you."

We don't talk about much while we eat. Whether it will rain or be sunny tomorrow. The nature of IP addresses. The best way to fit a cabinet into an awkward corner. Definitely not about the things that Dinah assumes that we're doing. Or Thea. And Roy didn't really imply anything, but he also didn't say anything that contradicted Thea's assumptions.

I sit up. Thea extracted a promise from us, and we haven't delivered. And we should know better than to disappoint Star City's resident vigilantes. Especially when they want us to call the head of the League of Assassins.

"I need to call Samantha," I tell Oliver.

"I'll pick up the dishes," he replies, meaning _I'll be right here if you need me_.

I shoot him a quick smile, and call Samantha.

I speak first when she answers. "Hi, Samantha! Haven't talked to you in a while. I've got some news for you!"

There is a pause, and then a man's voice responds. "Excuse me. Who is this?"

"I'm so sorry," I say. "I must have the wrong number." I frown at Oliver. Samantha's number is programmed into my phone. Something is wrong. I need to hack the GPS on the phone, find its location, figure out how to rescue Samantha... 

The voice on the phone is silent for a moment. When it speaks again, it cracks. "Felicity...?"

Oliver puts down the dishes and comes back to the table. "William?" he says. "Where is your mother?"

"Who is there with you?" William asks. "It sounded like Felicity. But she's dead."

Oliver looks helplessly at me. 

"I'm not dead," I say. I mean, what other options do I have?

William is silent again.

"William..." Oliver starts.

"No," William replies. "Seriously? Again?"

"William..." Oliver tries again.

"What happened?" It's almost a growl, except that William's voice cracks again. "Don't tell me. They found her on an island and she had a head injury and didn't know who she was. No, wait. That was my mother. Maybe she was found on an island after being stranded there for five years."

"I wasn't on an island at all..." I try.

"No? Then maybe you've got a new excuse. Cool. Original. Wow." William stops for a moment. "You know what the worst part is?"

I don't say anything. Oliver watches me, his lips pressed tightly together.

"You were the one I could always trust." He pauses. "Who can I trust now?"

"Let me talk to him," Oliver says, taking the phone and switching it off of speaker. I can hear the lecture as he goes into the bedroom and closes the door.

About ten minutes later, he comes back out. I look at him, not asking, just waiting.

Oliver sighs. "He says to tell you that he's doing fine in calculus, and that it's impossible to calculate the derivative of a function that isn't continuous." He gives a little shake of his head. "Whatever that means."

"It's math-speak for _how could you leave me like that_?" I reply. I get up from the table and carry my empty wine glass to the sink. "That went about as badly as it possibly could have."

"He's fifteen going on impossible," Oliver says. "Don't take it personally."

"He spent his childhood with no father, and then his mother died, and then he got taken away from you and forced to live with his mother's sister," I remind him. "He's got plenty of things to take personally."

"And right now, I can tell that he's related to me, because he's got the same teenaged attitude that Thea had." Oliver goes back into the kitchen and lets the now-cold water out of the sink. The dishes still aren't done.

"At least Thea turned out ok," I remind him. "Maybe William will meet someone as awesome as Roy."

"A fifteen-year-old version of Roy?" Oliver grumbles. "That's the last thing we need."

"Actually, the last thing we need is to have the League of Assassins come after us," I say. "I'm going to text Nyssa and make sure she knows I'm around. I trust her to tell Samantha the whole story."

Nyssa calls right back. "Now I understand why William is upset," she says. "He took his computer to his room and won't come out." 

"Sorry about that," I say. "How did he end up with Samantha's phone, anyway?"

"She leaves it on the table," Nyssa explains. "It can be a problem. He hung up on the principal once."

"Eek," I say. "He was such a good kid before."

"Puberty is difficult for everyone," Nyssa says. Somehow, the badass assassin has become the coolest stepmom of all.

"So you're not mad that I didn't tell you that I came back?" I ask. "Or that I kept my hair brown?"

"I will need to see the hair before I have an opinion," Nyssa says. "But I am not surprised. You were uncertain about who you were. Hair is a simple thing to change."

"I guess so," I say. "Could you tell Samantha what's going on?"

"I will," Nyssa promises. "And I am glad that your blood lust is past. Oliver is very lucky to have you back."

The phone goes silent. I sit, looking at it, thinking about her response.

Oliver comes out of the kitchen and coughs. "I should call John and talk to him," he says. "What can I tell him? I don't want to cause problems for him and Lyla."

"I'll talk to him," I sigh. "I think he'll understand about need-to-know."

"Maybe," Oliver says. "Let's both talk to him."

I tap in the number. I haven't talked to John since getting this phone, but I still remember it.

John answers. "Hello?" He sounds wary. Not surprising, given that he's never had a call from this number before. 

"Hey, John," I say, a little tentatively. "It's Felicity."

"Felicity!" His voice warms. "It's been a long time. How have you been? What are you up to?"

"I... I'm better," I say. The last time John saw me, I was trying to stick a knife into Oliver. "I'm in Star City."

"Star City..." He pauses. "You talked to Oliver?" 

"Actually, I'm at his place," I reply.

"Hey, John," Oliver says.

John chuckles. "No wonder you weren't worried about Amanda Waller being out," he says. "Felicity, you got your eyes out there?"

"Everywhere," I tell him. "Security cameras, traffic cameras. Airports. I'm watching."

"Good," he says. I can hear the smile in his voice. "Oliver, I'm glad it's working out for you, man. The two of you deserve a little happiness for once."

Oliver and I don't look at each other.

"So where have you been these past two years, Felicity?" John asks. "How did you get over the blood lust?"

I pause. Honesty. That was the point of this entire call. "I was in DC," I tell him. "Tracking down Amanda Waller's history for Lyla."

John is silent for a moment. Processing. Hopefully good processing. "You were in the same city as us, working for my wife?" He sounds hurt. "Felicity..."

"I was able to do that work because Felicity Smoak was dead," I tell him. "My hair is different. I don't wear glasses any more. I go by Meghan Jones. It lets me do things that would have raised a lot of suspicions if they had been done by Felicity Smoak."

"I get the work secrecy," John says. "I work for ARGUS, too. And before that I worked with Oliver. But Felicity, there's work, and there are friends. Your friends are the people you can trust."

"I know," I tell him. My voice is very small. I had been planning to argue that all the secrecy kept him safe, kept his family safe. But it sounds hollow in my head now that I hear his voice.

"Take it easy on her, John," Oliver says. "Neither of us knows what she was going through. We've never actually been dead."

"Only assumed dead," John says. "I know." There's a space of silence, where none of us knows what to say. "Well, you know about being afraid to trust people, Oliver. Maybe you're the right person to help her. Felicity, don't wait so long to talk next time. Oliver, take care of her." 

"Thanks, John," Oliver says.

Wait. There's one more thing. "John," I say, "there's something else. I haven't told Lyla yet, and I probably shouldn't call any of her phones. We haven't seen any sign of Waller, but there was a man who came looking for me. His name was Marvin Miller."

"Was," John notes.

"Right," I say. "Was. He found Oliver and I on a back street. Oliver punched him, and we asked him who sent him... and then his head exploded."

I hear John suck in his breath. "That program was ended," he says.

"Yeah," I reply. "That's strange enough on its own. But Miller disappeared from prison four years ago... while Amanda Waller was dead."

"I'll tell Lyla," John promises. "She'll want to know."

"And that's not all," I continue. "Before his head exploded, Miller gave me a card. He was offering me a job."

"A job," John says. "Who does he work for?"

"I don't know," I admit.

"Don't take it," John says. "You know not to take the job. Right?"

I don't say anything.

"Oliver," he says. "Tell her."

Oliver is silent.

"You two," John says. I imagine him shaking his head. "Take care of each other. And don't do anything stupid."

"Say hi to Lyla for us," Oliver says.

"I will," John says. He pauses, waiting for yet another bombshell. There isn't one. "Bye."

***

Oliver goes into the kitchen to make another attempt at washing the dishes. I join him, trying to dry things and put them away. But I don't know where everything goes, and a lot of things are kept on shelves that I can't reach easily. Oliver notices, and we switch jobs.

Finally, the last of the leftover containers is clean. I go back to my computer. Maybe there's some data from the code that I installed on the mystery job site.

Nothing. 

Oliver comes in and looks over my shoulder. "Nothing?" he asks.

"Nothing," I say. I turn and look at him. "Are you going to tell me not to respond to the job offer?"

Oliver sits in the other chair. "Do you think you should respond?"

I sigh. "I don't know," I say. "I mean, obviously I shouldn't work for someone who makes their employees explode. But I haven't gotten anywhere with my other approaches." 

"It's a mystery," Oliver says. "And it needs to be solved."

"Exactly." I try to spin, but Oliver has been using a couple extra kitchen chairs at his desk. He grabs the back of the chair before I manage to tip it over. "What do _you_ think I should do?" 

Oliver pulls his hand back and sets it on his knee, then lifts it again and scratches his head. "My instincts say it's dangerous," he says. "But you know more about this than I do. You would use a burner phone to contact them, right?" He rolls his eyes at himself. "Of course you would."

I nod. "John thinks it's a bad idea," I say.

"John's got a point," Oliver acknowledges. "But in the end, it's up to you." He looks seriously at me. "What do you want to do, Felicity?"

I look back at him, and realize that, in all our years together, he has never asked me this. Never in this way. I have told him what he should do, and he has listened. Sometimes. Eventually. I have argued with his reasoning, and he has followed my lead. He has told me what _he_ wants, whether it's for me to be safe away from him, or for me to be married to him. Sometimes I said _yes_. And I have also said _no_ , and later changed my mind.

People simply don't ask Felicity Smoak what she wants. Not just Oliver. My mother, and my college friends, and my supervisors at Queen Consolidated, and Ray Palmer, and the board at Palmer Tech, and John and Curtis and Alena and Ra's al Ghul... all of them. They have always stepped into the space left by indecision, and shaped Felicity Smoak into whatever they needed her to be. They gave her jobs, whether assistant or CEO or hacker. They kissed her, whether she wanted to be kissed or not. 

Felicity Smoak is dead.

The secret to recovering from the Lazarus Pit is to figure out who you are, Sara Lance told me. And part of that is figuring out what I want.

I don't know what I want. At least, I don't know what I want to do about this job offer. But I look at Oliver, who is waiting, patiently, for me to decide.

I do know one thing.

I stand and walk the two steps to his chair, and reach down for his hand. I don't have to pull very hard to get him to stand.

"Right now, I want to kiss you," I say.

His eyes darken as he nods, then leans down. I grab his head and pull it closer. But the first touch of our lips is tentative, just a brush. I remember these lips. Softer than they look, even when they are desperate or hungry. I run my tongue along them, slipping it inside them, tasting the pasta and wine.

I want more. It has been two long years. I want his hands to run over me, to pick me up and carry me to that bed that's just behind him, I want those lips on my neck and my breasts and my thighs...

He pulls away as I begin sliding my fingers under his shirt, and looks down at my hands.

Oh.

I hold them out, showing him that they are empty. "No knife," I tell him. "No gun. I don't want to kill you. But I might explode if my clothes aren't gone soon."

He smiles at that, but doesn't close the distance. My feet are still on his bedroom floor. We are still dressed. This situation is untenable.

"You're sure?" he asks.

"Yes," I tell him. "Yes. Now. Clothes..." I wave my hands at him. The words are not working at the moment.

He pulls off his shirt in one motion and stands there, still as a statue. I take a step forward and reach out my hand, following the ridges of his muscles from his waistband to his ribs. My fingers meander across his abs, then up his sternum to his pecs. I touch one scar, curiously. I have touched this before. I have kissed it, kissed each of these, wishing each of the hurts away. But I didn't know the stories behind them.

He told me the stories, I realize. In the coffee shop, pretending to be strangers.

"Is this where Yao Fei shot you?" I ask.

He nods. None of his other muscles even twitch. I touch another, going through the stories. He doesn't pull away. He just answers whatever questions I ask.

Finally, I have matched every mark with my memories of his body. I glance up at him. "I think I remember all of these," I say, hesitantly. "Nothing new."

He holds out his hand. "I hit this finger with a hammer," he says. "The fingernail came off."

I run my finger along his hand. The callouses are different, too. "Sandpaper?" I guess. "On your palm. Not so much on your knuckles." 

He smiles. "I don't punch people as much any more."

"Except for people who want to offer me a job," I point out.

"I hope your job offers don't normally come from people who shoot holes in your hotel room," Oliver responds. "I promise not to punch potential employers. Not as a general rule, at least."

"That's good," I say. "Someday there might be a job that I really want." I run my fingers along each of his until I feel something familiar. "That's your bow string callous."

"I told you that I still practice with Thea and Roy, didn't I?" he says.

I slide my finger across his palm again. "Salmon ladder?"

"Sometimes," he says. He pauses. "It's still in the bunker. I didn't want to get rid of it."

"Maybe I'll have to go down there some time," I tease.

"You don't have to do anything," he says. "But if you want to..."

I pull his head down and kiss him again. He runs his fingers through my hair, down to my bare ears. His fingers slide free, not tangling like they used to, so he continues down to my jaw, tightening his fingers as he cups my face. I sigh and run my tongue along his teeth. He opens his mouth a little more, tickling my tongue with his. I let go of his head, run my hands down his back, and give a little bounce.

He pulls back and looks at me. 

"This is the point where you pick me up and walk backwards to the bed," I tell him. I remember that. I remember wrapping my legs around him and pressing my hips against his until I could almost come while he was carrying me.

"If that's what you want," he whispers, and grabs my thighs and lifts.

He stumbles a little.

"Sorry!" I apologize. "My weight is all distributed differently."

"I'm out of practice," he says, and sets me down. "Maybe we should just walk to the bed."

My legs are about as sturdy as Silly Putty at this point, but I want to be in the bed with him, so I force my legs to move under their own power. He sits on the edge of the bed, and I climb on top of him. He cups my face and kisses me again.

"It's weird not having to push my hair out of the way when we do this," I say.

He laughs. "It's different," he says. "But I like it." His hands stop making the little circles on my ass. I wriggle to let him know that I want him to continue. "I mean... I'm glad you're here," he says. "That you're back. That we have another chance." He stops. "Not that I mean that we have to do any of it, in the same way, or at all..." He stops again, as if he's trying to find the words for it.

"It's ok," I reassure him. "I'm glad we're doing this. Whatever _this_ is." I lift up my arms. "No buttons," I tell him.

He releases my ass and slips his hands up, slowly, beneath my shirt. I have to lift one arm, then the other, because I'm not used to balancing on his hips, and I want to grind down on him as much as I want my shirt off. But finally my arms are free. I reach behind myself to unclasp my bra, and he slips his hands under the straps, then forward under the cups, until his sandpaper callouses rub against my nipples. I moan and wriggle back against his hands. He takes an unsteady breath and slips the bra all the way off.

My breasts dangle, heavier than they used to be. I give him a wry look. "They're new," I tell him. "The Lazarus Pit doesn't put everything back to the way it was."

He does a half sit-up - seriously, he can still do those - and kisses the spot where my first bullet scar used to be. "It's gone," he says. "Your scar is gone."

"The ones on my back are gone, too," I tell him.

He tips us to the side, rolling so that he faces my back, and inspects. "They are," he says. His hand runs along the line where the bullets went into my spine, then pauses. "What... what else?"

"What else did the Pit heal?" I ask. "My eyes. I don't need glasses any more."

He runs his hand along my side, then slides it over to cup my belly. He used to do this while I was pregnant, run his hand along my taut skin, circle my popped-out belly button. But I'm not pregnant, and my skin is looser than it ever was before I died.

"My uterus," I tell him. "At least, I assume so. My kidneys. My liver. My blood pressure." I stop. "I read about pre-eclampsia online," I tell him. "I don't actually know what happened in here." I point vaguely to the area of my uterus. Or my intestines. Biology was never my thing, and I am not about to tap into anyone else's memories while Oliver has his arm wrapped around me.

His hand had been wandering lower, caressing the skin beneath my waistband. He stops. "Do you want to do this?" he asks.

"Yes," I said. I am already starting to throb, feeling his erect cock pressed against my ass through two pairs of pants. I remember coming multiple time under his hands and his tongue and his cock. It has been two fucking years. Yes, I fucking want this.

He huffs a laugh. I must have said some of that out loud. I used to do this in bed, I remember. I used to start saying whatever was in my brain, and he would laugh, and sometimes he would laugh against my clit and I would babble even more. Yes, I fucking miss this and I want it again.

"That's not what I mean," he says. "One of the times we did this..." He pauses. "I don't have any condoms," he finally finishes. "I don't want..."

"You don't want a baby," I finish.

"It's not that," he says. He sits up and reaches for something. I turn to see what it is.

It's my old stuffed rabbit.

"I would love... I would love to have a baby. Another baby." He pauses. "I just..." He stops, shakes his head a couple times, starts again. "I don't want you to die," he finally says.

I look at him. "Oh."

"I've missed you," he says. "Roy had to talk me out of going after you, you know. Even when I knew you would try to kill me if I did. I missed you that much. And then I thought and thought about the things you said, about how you felt like you had to make me a better person. And I tried to be that person, on my own. I thought that maybe if I got off probation, if I proved that I could be that person whether you were here or not, maybe you would come back. But you didn't. So I kept on, until I thought I could live with my work and my city and my son and my sister." He looks into my eyes. The sincerity is only heightened by the way he is holding my old stuffed rabbit in his arm. "And then you came back. And you're different, I know you're different, you had to figure out who you are. And I know you haven't been here for very long." He takes a breath. "But I love you. I still love you. And I don't want to do anything that will hurt you, ever again."

"Wow," I say. I stretch until I can reach his old stuffed bear, then hug it. "I... I don't know exactly who I am. Not even now. And I don't know what I'm going to become." I sit up and face him. "But I brought a bunch of condoms with me."

He blinks. "You did?"

"It was Lyla's idea," I tell him. "She plans for contingencies. And also she got pregnant the first time that she had sex with John after they got divorced. And she doesn't regret having JJ, but she also hadn't already died once from complications of pregnancy." I laugh at the look on his face. There's a little shock that women talk about these things, and also a little wonder, like he's just realized that he's going to get to have some really awesome sex, very soon. "Lyla's the one who looked up all the medical information about pre-eclampsia," I tell him. "I would never have thought of it."

He nods, looking dazed.

"Um," I say. "The condoms are in my bag. Which is in the other room." 

"I'll come with you," he says.

And he does. He follows me into the living room, fingers tangled in mine, and kneels beside me as I fumble through my bag, digging under the gun and the laptop and the clean underwear until I find the condoms. I hold them up, like I've just found the world's biggest prize, and he grins at me.

We drag each other back into the bedroom, and fumble at each other's pants because neither one of us wants to wait for the other to finish. Finally, we realize that we can undo our own buttons and zippers and get all that ridiculous cloth off of our own bodies. And then we are naked, lying beside one another on his bed. The stuffed animals have been banished to the floor, along with all of our clothes.

He runs a hand along my side, from my torso to my thighs, and then, more slowly, up the inside of my thighs. He pauses.

"Yes," I tell him.

His fingers still take a slow, teasing path along the edge of my hip bone, then down. I thrust my hips towards his hand, and finally he runs his fingers along the little aroused ridge to my clit. I wriggle, and his fingers bump along the way and it's nearly as good as my vibrator...

He stops. "You have a vibrator?"

"Yes of course I have a vibrator how do you think I've gone for two years please don't stop doing that..." I babble.

He laughs, and taps an irregular beat down to my clit until I'm already throbbing, and then slides down until his face is next to my hips. He grins up at me.

"Yes," I tell him. "Oh, please. Yes."

He wraps one hand around my ass and keeps the rhythm going with the fingers of his other hand. And then moves his head towards me, his scruffy beard rubbing against my thigh and then against my folds and I'm already dripping when his tongue reaches out and tastes me.

"Yes," I murmur as I throb against his tongue. "Yes," I whisper as he sucks on my clit. "Yes," I moan as he crawls back up my body, kissing my navel and my solar plexus and the bottom of my breast and my nipple and my collarbone and my jaw and...

"Yes," I moan, as he sits up and unrolls the condom onto his cock. I try to pull myself up so I can climb on top of him, but my arms are already made of jello from the previous three orgasms. Or four. Or maybe five. God, the sex is so good that I can't do math and he hasn't even been inside me yet.

He laughs again, and pulls me on top of him. I move around until I can feel his cock bump against my leg, reorient myself, and slide onto him.

His face twists into something that is both a smile and a laugh and a grimace and the most ridiculous orgasm face I have ever seen, and I ride his thrusts on the crest of my own little tsunami.

We collapse onto the bed, spent, still staring at each other's faces.

"Was it like this?" I ask. "I don't remember. Was it always like this?"

He just lies there until his breathing becomes more regular. "It was always different," he says. "But never exactly like this."

He pads off to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. We pull on t-shirts and underwear and slide under the covers. His arms wrap around me, and I snuggle into his shoulder. And we sleep.


	8. Oliver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is also fairly explicit sex at the beginning of this chapter.

Oliver has had this dream before. He awakens with a pair of cold feet tucked between his legs and his face nuzzled into a mess of blonde hair, and just lies there, listening to her breathing. But then the alarm goes off, and he is cuddled around a stuffed animal, or maybe two, and the other side of the bed is, as always, empty.

He lies there, enjoying the dream, knowing that he'll have to get up and face a world that isn't particularly dangerous or hostile any more, but is missing a heart.

The breathing continues, and then stutters, and the warm body twitches against his. Oliver cracks open an eye and sees short dark hair on his pillow. He opens the other eye, and remembers. His penis twitches awake as well, hardening where it is pressed against her bare thigh. He shifts a bit to try to get more comfortable, or less implicitly demanding, and she rolls over to look at him.

"Hey," she says. _Felicity_ says. _Felicity_ , who is in his bed and snuggled against him, says.

His face might just crack in two.

She reaches out a hand to trace his lips with her finger. Her knuckles rub against his beard, and his smile widens.

"It's like the fucking sun coming out," she murmurs.

"The fucking sun?" He can't help but laugh into her hand.

"Did I actually say that?" She closes her eyes. "I did not mean to say that out loud."

Oliver kisses her fingers. "You used to say the craziest things when you were turned on," he says.

"I guess I still do," she smiles back. She shifts a bit and bumps into his penis. "And you never used to say much, but you had other ways of showing it." She reaches down and strokes him, and he groans. "Are you interested in another round?"

"If you are." He lies there and just looks at her. "My body has its own opinions, but I would be happy either way."

She laughs and pulls his hand down, between her legs. Her panties are already wet. "I woke up surrounded by a warm body that smells like Oliver," she says. "My body knows what that means." 

He doesn't need any more encouragement. He pushes her shirt up, catching on her rapidly tightening nipples on the way. He forgets his goal for a moment, sliding her nipples between his fingers, feeling her press towards him, bending to catch one in his mouth and run his tongue around it until she squeaks and pulls her arms out of the shirt herself. And then she is pulling his own shirt off, and he has to lift his arms and release her nipple and he really doesn't want to, but she is insistent. They lie there for a moment, kissing and nuzzling and caressing, until they remember that their underwear is still on. They shove it off, unwilling to stop kissing, until nothing is between them but the thin film of sweat that has already started to coat their bodies. 

Felicity rolls to her side, then comes back with another condom. "May I?" she asks.

Oliver nods and lies back, watching her slowly run her fingers along his penis, involuntarily pushing upwards into her hands. She smiles slowly and unrolls the condom, bit by bit, down his shaft. Then she sits up and crawls onto his lap, sliding onto him and rocking, slowly, as he wraps his arms around her and nibbles on her earlobe. She sighs and presses her hips harder against his. He could come just like this, at any moment...

She pulls back. "Can you roll us over?" she asks. "One-handed? Like you used to?"

He breathes a few times to try to slow down. "I can try," he says. "I'm out of practice."

He reaches down and cups her ass with one hand and steadies them on the bed with the other. He takes a breath, shifts his hips, lifts...

And then they are reversed. But his penis has slipped out, and they laugh and rearrange themselves until he has slid inside her again, slowly at first, then building a rhythm. He slips a hand between them and rubs circles around her nub, out of cadence with the thrusts, but she doesn't seem to care. Her eyes lose their focus, and she starts to curse as she quivers around him. He plunges one more time and lets go.

They collapse together, breathing raggedly, foreheads touching.

"Wow," Felicity says. "I forgot how nice it is to wake up like that."

Oliver laughs and rolls to the side to pull off the condom, then wraps his arms around her again.

***

They must fall back to sleep, because they wake up, naked and tangled in the blankets, when someone's phone buzzes.

Felicity mumbles something and reaches for it. "Hello?"

"Good morning," Dinah says over the speaker. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Oh, I'm awake," Felicity says, sitting up. Oliver lifts his head.

"That's not exactly what I meant." Dinah sounds amused. "You realize that you answered Oliver's phone, don't you? I tried yours first, but..."

Oliver looks at her and shrugs.

"What's up?" Felicity asks. "Anything new about Marvin Miller?"

"No," Dinah replies. "There's been another development."

"Yes?" Felicity asks. Behind her, Oliver gets out of bed and pulls on a clean pair of underwear.

"You had another visitor at your hotel," Dinah tells her. "He went to the front desk and asked for you. Didn't leave his name. The hotel called to tell us - they thought it might be important for our investigation."

"It's nice that businesses trust the SCPD these days," Felicity comments. "Good job cleaning up the corruption."

"Thanks," Dinah replies. "But that's not the point. The point is that they have security camera footage of him. And I think you should look at it. Analyze it. Do whatever it is you do, because none of the people at the station have ever seen him before."

"Right," Felicity says. "I'll be down there soon."

"It's not a huge rush. You've got time to shower and get dressed. As long as you don't have help." The call ends.

"The innuendo was annoying when she was mis-reading us," Felicity grumbles. "But now, it's just..."

"Unnecessary?" Oliver offers.

"I was going to say ' _overly perceptive_ ,'" Felicity says. "I forgot what it's like to have nosey friends."

Oliver realizes that he doesn't mind a bit. In fact, he would probably wear a t-shirt that says _I'm sleeping with Felicity Smoak!!_ But she is living under a new name and is being tracked by people with exploding heads, so maybe advertising their current status isn't the best idea.

Felicity climbs out of bed and starts looking for her clothes. They are scattered all over the room, which gives Oliver a chance to just lie back and watch her. She pulls on a t-shirt and goes to the door.

"I'm going to take a shower, and then go down to the station." She looks at her phone. "Wow, it's Sunday. Doesn't Dinah take any time off?"

Oliver has no idea. He shrugs. "I don't interact with the police very much these days," he says.

She looks at him carefully. "You really have retired, haven't you?"

He shrugs again. "I was on probation," he says. "Retirement was forced on me."

"Right," she says. "It's just... you look content with it." She turns and heads for the shower.

***

After a shower and tea, Felicity leaves for the police station. No, she doesn't want a ride; she has planned a route that involves some walking, some public transport, and an old-fashioned taxi, because that's what you do when you're keeping your existence a secret. It's a different approach from brazening out a playboy reputation, but then again, Felicity hasn't officially come back from the dead yet. And Oliver's willing to see how it works, because his approach to returning from the dead never really worked that well.

Oliver showers, gets dressed, and checks the refrigerator. Yes, he has already been cooking for her, but he has fantasies about creating the ultimate brunch. Something to rival Ivy Town, or their abandoned dreams of a honeymoon in Bali. But there isn't much left, after dinner and yesterday's breakfast. He hasn't been shopping for two. If he's honest about it, he's barely been shopping for one. He finds a pen, opens his little book, and starts making a list.

Half an hour later, he's at the grocery store checkout, cart full of eggs and cheese and vegetables and interesting cuts of meat. He had the urge to try a new quinoa and kale recipe, but decided that he should work up to that. Instead, he's busy dreaming up something involving roasted vegetables as he pushes the cart out of the automatic doors and hears the argument in front of him.

 _Argument_ might be too mild of a word for it. An overweight white security guard is glaring at a skinny black kid, who stands with his hands up. The kid says something and drops one of his hands. The guard pulls out a gun.

Oliver leaves his cart behind and walks up to them. "Hey, folks," he says, mildly with a hint of a threat. "What's going on?" He watches both of them - the guard holds his gun like he doesn't have much training, which means that he might be easy to disarm, but he might also shoot someone without meaning to. The kid doesn't move his hand any further, but Oliver watches that, too.

"He was shoplifting," the security guard snarls. "And when I told him to stop, he reached for a gun."

"I paid!" the kid yells back. "I got a receipt and everything. Don't shoot me cause my mom needed a can of beans!"

"If you paid for it, why don't you have a bag?" The security guard looks at Oliver like he has just won that argument.

"My teacher made us go for a week without using plastic!" the kid fires back. "I got to go home and write an essay about it."

Oliver takes another step forward. "Lower your gun," he says to the security guard. "And take your finger off the trigger."

The gun's muzzle drops. Not as much as Oliver would like, but enough that an accidentally fired bullet would hit the pavement rather than a person. Hopefully. Oliver turns to the kid.

"Now, pull out the receipt. Slowly." Oliver nods to the kid, then glances at the guard. "You can keep the gun down. I'm watching him."

The kid pulls out the receipt, plus a can of beans. His hands are shaking as he hands the receipt to Oliver.

Oliver glances at it. One can of pinto beans. Paid with cash. He looks at the security guard. "The kid is telling the truth. Put your weapon away." Why a grocery store security guard is carrying a gun on the job is another question, but not relevant at the moment. 

The kid coughs to get Oliver's attention. "Can I drop my hands now?" he asks. "I need to get my phone out."

Oliver gives the security guard a hard look. It takes a moment, but finally he nods and sticks his gun back in the holster. "Please re-engage the safety, too," Oliver says, and watches until the guard is done. "Ok," he says to the kid. "You can get your phone now."

The kid reaches into his other pocket, pulls out his phone, and takes a photo of Oliver and the guard. The guard glares, but Oliver glares back at him, and the guard takes his hand away from his holster.

"Mr. Queen," the kid says. "Can I have a selfie with you? My teacher is gonna think I made this up if I don't."

Oliver shrugs. "Sure," he says. 

The kid holds out his phone, grins, and takes the photo. But then he pulls something out of the phone case. "Could you sign this, too?"

Oliver looks down. It looks like... "Is this a trading card?" he asks the kid.

The kid nods. "Everybody told me that I would never get an autograph from the Green Arrow," he says. "They say you've retired. But it can't hurt to ask." He pulls a Sharpie out of his pocket.

Oliver leans down and signs the card against his knee. "There," he says. "You need to actually write that essay, too," he reminds the kid. It's a habit. He's had to nag William lately, too.

The kid grins. "Thanks, Mr. Queen!"

Oliver shakes his head as the kid runs across the parking lot.

The security guard snorts. "Never thought I'd see the Green Arrow reduced to virtue signaling," he grumbles.

Oliver turns on him. "What did you say?" he growls quietly.

"You're soft," the guard replies. "The old Green Arrow would have beaten the crap out of that thug."

"I didn't beat up kids," Oliver replies. "And you're lucky that I don't put arrows into people for being jerks any more." He turns and walks back to his grocery cart, watching the guard to make sure the gun continues to stay in its holster.

***

Oliver hasn't even finished putting the groceries away when Roy shows up.

"So the Green Arrow's back?" Roy asks, taking a bite of an apple that Oliver left on the island.

"No. Where did you hear that?" Oliver replies. "I mean, yes, I've got a bow in the closet. But only because you and Thea thought I would need it." He frowns as Roy takes another bite. "And don't eat any more of those. I've got plans to make dessert with them." 

"There's a new Instagram story about you," Roy says, pulling out his phone to show Oliver. "Thea found it, and we both thought we'd better talk to you."

Oliver looks through the images. Oh. The kid. "I de-escalated a situation outside the grocery store," he says. "The kid had some old super-hero trading cards. He was writing an essay for school."

"What?" Roy shakes his head, confused. "You stopped a fight about using super-hero trading cards for a school essay?"

"No," Oliver says. "An overly aggressive - and racist - security guard confronted a kid. Thought he was shoplifting. I got the guard to put his gun down long enough to let the kid show his receipt."

"Wait, security guards are carrying guns? Was it concealed?" Roy, after all, is on City Council.

"No, open carry," Oliver replies.

"I told everyone that the open carry rule was stupid," Roy grumbles. "But you haven't finished the story. What was that about trading cards?"

"Remember last year, around the time my probation ended?" Oliver asks. "There was a company that wanted to make some silly trading cards. William said it sounded kind of cool, so I agreed to it."

"So you rescued a kid who had your trading card, and he put a story on Instagram," Roy summarizes.

"Well, _rescued_ is too strong of a word, but... yeah," Oliver concedes.

"Ok," Roy says. "But if you get any ideas about starting things back up again, you need to tell Thea and me. We can't have rogue retired vigilantes messing up our work."

"Rogue retired vigilantes...?" Oliver stares at Roy. "Two days ago, you and Thea were worried that I wasn't prepared to protect myself from Amanda Waller. And now you're here because you're worried that I'm back in the vigilante business?" He shakes his head. "Roy, that doesn't make any sense."

Roy shrugs. "Felicity's back," he says. "That changes everything. You stopped doing vigilante stuff when she died. You had been on probation for six months before that, but you kept going out and fighting crime as long as you had Felicity in your ear."

"Seriously?" Oliver walks away from him.

But Roy keeps talking. "And Thea reminded me that Felicity was the one who got you back into the Green Arrow business after your last retirement, when you were playing house in Ivy Town." He puts the apple down on the island, then follows Oliver into the main room. "But now... everyone knows who you are." He shrugs as Oliver looks back at him. "Plus you're out of practice. Thea and I don't want you messing things up."

"Messing things up...?" Oliver opens a closet and pulls out his bow. "You really think I'm out of practice?"

"What are you doing to do?" Roy challenges him. "Shoot an apple out of my hand?"

"I could," Oliver glares back. "But this apartment isn't big enough for a good test."

Roy shrugs. "You used to take people down in smaller spaces than this."

"By punching them," Oliver points out. "Or hitting them with the bow. You know that." He holds out the bow. "If you're that worried about it, you can take this back to the bunker. But Felicity hasn't asked me to go back to being the Arrow. Not at all." 

Roy takes the bow, but he doesn't look convinced. "You punched a guy who wanted to hire Felicity, and then his head exploded," he points out. "Sounds like the Arrow to me."

"I didn't..." Oliver stops. Actually, he did. "Ok. Fine. But you don't need to worry about me becoming a rogue vigilante just because Felicity is getting problematic job offers. That's not happening."

The door opens, and Felicity walks in. "What's not happening?" she asks. "Hi, Roy."

"Whoa," Roy says. "Your hair really does look different. I didn't believe Thea when she told me."

"Roy's worried that I'm going to interfere with the city vigilante business," Oliver says to Felicity, nodding at the bow in Roy's hand.

"Don't worry," Felicity says to Roy. "If we need help with the Amanda Waller problem, we'll tell you."

Roy frowns, like she hasn't exactly addressed his concerns.

Oliver decides to just hope the argument is over and looks at Felicity. "How did things go? Down at the police station?"

"There wasn't much to do," Felicity replies. "Dinah gave me a flash drive with the hotel video, and then I went shopping. I needed some new clothes. And also some burner phones." She puts the shopping bags on the counter.

"Video?" Roy asks. "Burner phones?" He gives Oliver a significant look.

Oliver ignores him. "You made a decision about the job offer?"

"I want to try a few other things first," Felicity says. "But it never hurts to have a few burner phones ready for emergencies. I set them up while I was riding the bus back here." She takes one out and hands it to Oliver.

Roy waves the bow at the phones. "Not going back to Arrow-ing? You sure about that?"

Felicity looks from Oliver to Roy and back again. "What did I miss?" she asks.

Roy hands her his phone. She glances through the story. 

"That's really sweet," she says. "Giving that kid an autograph."

Roy coughs. "You know Oliver doesn't wander the city dealing with crime any more, don't you?"

Felicity shrugs. "He stopped a mugging last month," she says. 

"You did?" Roy looks accusingly at Oliver. "I didn't hear about that in the police reports."

"That's because there wasn't a crime." Oliver is a little defensive. "The guy went away. All I did was look threatening." 

"Well, at least you aren't putting arrows into people's knees," Roy says, keeping a firm grip on Oliver's bow, as if he's still worried about the possibility. "But still."

"There's a lot of room between _passive bystander_ and _vigilante_ ," Felicity points out. "Isn't the city easier to deal with if more people get involved?"

"As long as there isn't any punching," Roy says. "Or exploding heads."

"Roy, we'll keep you informed," Oliver promises.

"Good," Roy responds. He tucks his phone into his pocket, then grabs the apple and takes one more bite. "It's bad enough sharing the city with the League of Reformed Assassins." He tosses the apple core into the garbage and looks one more time at Felicity. "That hair is so weird on you."

"Bye, Roy," Felicity says, and opens the door for him.

Roy looks at them one more time, but finally leaves, taking the bow with him.

***

"So," Oliver says. "Surveillance video?"

"Mmm-hmm," Felicity agrees. She glances at the groceries. "What are those things?"

"Jerusalem artichokes." Oliver pulls one out. "I was going to roast them. Plus some parsnips and brussels sprouts."

Felicity nods, looking through the other grocery bags. "You should probably finish putting this stuff away," she suggests. "I'll download the video. It will take me a while to enhance it, and you don't really need to watch me type."

Oliver thinks that he would actually kind of enjoy watching her type, but some of the food does need to go into the freezer. He nods. "I'll be right in."

When Oliver gets into the bedroom, the video already takes up one of the big screens. The other one contains several smaller frames, with enhanced screenshots in each one. Felicity looks up as he comes in.

"Hey," she says. "I'm running facial recognition on a couple of these images. In the meantime, look at this." She points to a blown-up picture of the man's hand.

"He's married," Oliver notes. "He's got a tan line where his ring ought to be."

"True," Felicity agrees. "But look at what's in the hand."

It's a piece of paper with something written on it.

"Can you read the numbers?" Felicity asks.

Oliver tries. He has to guess at some of them.

Felicity nods, then shows him the paper on which she wrote her own guess. It matches.

"That's a phone number," Oliver says. "International."

"I think the country code is Markovia," Felicity says. "I was about to check to see if I'm right."

 _It's a number_ , Oliver thinks. _Of course she's right_. "A phone number in Markovia," he considers. "What are you going to do?"

"I bought burner phones," Felicity says. "I'm going to call it."

Oliver frowns at her.

"I'm not going to talk or anything. Just record whatever happens. I've got bugs." She pulls something out of her bag. "And maybe I'll breathe heavily into my phone a little, like they used to do in crank calls from landlines."

Oliver keeps frowning.

"I'll even hack the microphone so it won't pick up any ambient noise," she adds. "We don't need this guy showing up here."

"You can track phones using ambient noise?" Oliver asks.

"Sure. GPS and cell towers are easier, but sounds can provide clues, too." She taps a few things on her computer. "Which reminds me. I need to spoof the GPS and mess with the cell tower records first."

Oliver watches over her shoulder, worried. He trusts Felicity to hack anything. He really does. It's just...

She turns around and grins at him. "Of course I'm not going to just call it," she says. "I'm looking for all the records of that number. I'll find out who owns it, and everything it's ever been used for, and nobody will be the wiser."

Several minutes pass. Felicity types, mutters something, and types again. Finally, she shakes her head.

"It's a burner phone, too," she says. "No records. Nothing." She picks up her phone - her burner phone, Oliver realizes when the first flash of panic recedes.

He watches her tap in the number, and then listen. She frowns, makes sure her computer has picked up everything, and ends the call.

"Well?" Oliver asks.

"Just... listen," she says, opening the file with the recording. "Tell me what you think this is."

Oliver listens. It's just a message routing the call to voicemail. The recorded voice is heavily accented, plus probably modified as well. But it's not a normal voicemail message.

"I think that was a job offer," Oliver says. "Again."

"That's what I thought, too," Felicity agrees. "Which means we've got more information about our exploding friend. Looks like Marvin Miller was working with a group in Markovia." She types some other things that Oliver doesn't understand.

"Um." Oliver isn't sure if he should interrupt. "Wasn't the web site - or whatever that thing that Miller sent you to - wasn't it in Kasnia?"

Felicity looks thoughtfully at him. "It was," she says. "And relations between Markovia and Kasnia aren't great. Trying to run something covert from both countries at once... well, any internet traffic or phone calls or anything would be monitored." She pulls up the window related to the Kasnian IP. "I'm going to give them a cell number. For the other burner phone. And I'm going to see what happens."

She types the cell number - complete with country code - into the line with the blinking cursor. And then she waits.

The burner phone buzzes. "Text message incoming," she says. "I installed an app to collect information from any incoming calls, so the analysis should be here any..." She frowns. "Or maybe I should just read the message."

She hands the phone to Oliver. The message repeats the job offer, and asks her to call another number. "That's a different country code," he says.

"Right," Felicity agrees. "This one is in Kasnia. Like the IP address." She looks at Oliver. "I think I just got two competing job offers. From two different - and mutually hostile - countries." She tilts her head, then starts typing again.

"What are you thinking?" Oliver asks.

"I'm going back to the ARGUS files," she says. "The military, the senators. I need to figure out who has ties to Kasnia. And who's involved in Markovia. And cross-reference that information with all the financial files that I downloaded." She leans back and looks at the screen. "This will take a while." She rolls her shoulders. "You need to get a real computer chair in here," she grumbles. Or teases. Oliver isn't quite sure. "The height of these kitchen chairs makes typing rough."

Oliver reaches out his hands, but stops before they get to her shoulders. "Sorry," he says. "I don't use this desk very much." He pauses. "Want a shoulder rub?"

Felicity wriggles her shoulders in response. "That is a most excellent apology."

Oliver grins and sinks his fingers into her shoulders. She's got knots in a bunch of her old places. Where her collar bone reaches her shoulder. Above the corner of her shoulder blade. At the base of her neck. He used to have to lift her hair to get to that one.

She glances back at him, expecting something.

Right. He would lift her hair, and then he would kiss the base of her neck, alternating massage with little nips from his teeth.

The hair is short, but her neck is still right there. He leans forward and kisses it.

She hums a little under her breath, tilting her head and sitting up straighter. He takes the hint and licks, then nibbles. Her ear is right there, too, and he works his way up to the lobe. She sighs, then turns her head towards him and pulls his head towards hers.

They kiss as Felicity gets to her feet, knocking over the chair in the process, and nudges him backwards towards the bed.


	9. I, attempting multi-dimensionality

I need a multi-dimensional murderboard at this point. There are too many possible ways to think about the data.

First: there are all the different people who could potentially be connected to Amanda Waller's past work. And present work. And goals. People inside ARGUS, people in the military, politicians.

Second: there are the connections between the outside people and ARGUS. I'm not sure whether the financial ties should be considered on a separate axis or not.

Third: there are the connections to Kasnia and Markovia. And in my coding, I need to do separate analyses for AND versus OR.

Fourth: and how should I think about Miller? He was a pawn; he doesn't show up in any of the other information. So it's possible that the data that I need, the data that shows me what's really going on...  It might not be in any of my files. (And if I'm honest, knowing that someone was collecting people from prison and putting bombs in their head - besides Amanda Waller - worries me. Miller can't be the only one. Can he?)

There's so much to consider, I'm having trouble keeping track of the ultimate question. I want to know who released Amanda Waller, and why. Focus on the endgame, Felicity.

I sigh and close the window. I don't like it when I can't solve a problem. Especially one involving data and missing people and explosions and crime.

And I don't enjoy feeling like someone is trying to manipulate me. Yes, I've been pressured to do things in the past. Everything from erasing student debt to becoming a CEO. But it's worse after coming out of the Pit, after knowing that Talia wanted to use me as a pawn to kill Oliver. After knowing that the other women in my head (Isabel, Samantha, presumably Amanda) were brought back for purposes that weren't their own. Even Isabel, whom I killed, was Talia's pawn (and before that, Slade Wilson's, and before that she was trapped by Robert Queen's sexual harassment).

Oliver pokes his head into the bedroom. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he is wearing a t-shirt that clings to his body and reveals the contours of his muscles. Why, yes, we showered separately; his shower is really small and we already had some very excellent sex. Why am I even thinking about this...?

And I've already missed what he was saying. He looks at me expectantly. There must have been a question.

"Umm." I give him an innocent look. "Could you repeat that?"

He grins at me. "I just asked if you would like couscous or rice pilaf with the roasted vegetables."

I shrug. "I appreciate being given choices," I tell him. "All of the choices. So many choices. But in this case, I trust your judgment."

He smiles, and goes back to his cooking.

***

We're halfway through washing the dishes when Samantha shows up. With William. Because it's Oliver's week for parenting. Right. I forgot how custody arrangements work.

William looks down at me, as uncertain as I am. How many inches shorter was he when Samantha died? I can't remember, but I know that he didn't tower over me when I would pick him up from school.

It doesn't help that my own memories are overlain by Samantha's. So I also remember William learning to walk, and riding his first bike. He was a cautious child, even when he was young. (The part of me that is Felicity thinks it's strange, that Oliver's child would have been so quiet and careful.)

"William?" Samantha nudges him.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"I couldn't hear you," Samantha says. "And I don't think Felicity could, either."

"Sorry," William repeats. "Mom told me about the Lazarus Pit."

I raise my eyebrows at Samantha. She nods back.

"Apology accepted," I say to William.

And then I'm not sure what to do. Two years ago, I would have offered a hug, but I'm not sure whether that's ok with this awkward young giant. I compromise by extending my hand to shake. He takes it, firmly, like he's attempting to hide uncertainty.

Samantha nods. "William, please help your father finish the dishes. I need to talk to Felicity."

She follows me into the bedroom. The bed is a mess, but she doesn't look at it. She glances at the computer, but the screens are dark. Then she looks at me.

"I like your hair," she says. "How are you?"

"The blood lust is gone," I tell her. "Obviously." I pause. "I think you're the only person who isn't weirded out by the hair."

Samantha shrugs. "My recovery from the Pit involved coming out as a lesbian and killing the presumed head of the League of Assassins," she says. "I'm hardly going judge you for changing your hair."

"Thanks," I tell her. I wait for her to respond, but the silence is awkward, so I break it. "I can't imagine that you left William in the kitchen so you could talk about my hair."

"No," Samantha says. "I've talked to Lyla. John told her about your disturbing job offer. Lyla asked if I would follow up." 

"Because Lyla doesn't want to tip off anyone," I finish. "Right." 

"She's already in trouble for keeping a formerly deceased head of ARGUS in a prison for two years," Samantha says. "I guess there have been a lot of meetings about managing exactly who knows what about Amanda Waller. But Lyla isn't any closer to knowing how Amanda escaped."

I nod. "Does she think her bosses are involved?" I ask. "Or are the useless meetings just the typical desire to avoid bad press? Or all press?" 

"She didn't say. But she mentioned several names." Samantha gave me a significant look. "You know how she usually avoids names, even in random stories, unless she wants you to know them." 

I actually don't know that, but it isn't surprising. Lyla's conversations with Samantha are always disguised as two working mothers gossiping. No one who recorded their calls would realize that the head of ARGUS was passing information to the boss of the League of Assassins. 

"I'll enter them into my files," I say, and turn to the computers. It only takes one mouse wiggle to bring the monitors back to life.

Samantha looks at the text on the screens. "Markovia? Kasnia?" She looks at me like I have answers.

"Hold on. Give me the names now, and then I've got some updated news for you." I type while Samantha lists them. "Ok. So. Markovia and Kasnia." I stop. There are way too many thoughts in my head. "I got two job offers. Two different job offers, I think. The first was from the guy with the exploding head - he gave me an IP address that's physically located in Kasnia. And then yesterday, another man visited my hotel. I haven't seen him in person, but the hotel security cameras captured him while he was asking for me at the front desk. I enhanced the images, and he had a slip of paper with a phone number from Markovia."

Samantha nods. "And the job offers?"

"The one from the Kasnians was on a web site. The Markovian one was in the voicemail message." I turn to look at her. "I used two different burner phones. I didn't say anything in either case, and I made sure to spoof my GPS and cell tower location."

Samantha sits in the second chair to think. I still wish we had real computer chairs - I have to drag mine around until I'm facing her.

"I have people in Markovia," Samantha finally says. "And at least a couple who know how to get in and out of Kasnia without being noticed. Is there anything the League can do to help?" 

I shake my head slowly. "I don't have physical addresses for anything," I tell her. "Even for the cell phone."

Samantha nods. "I can ask my people to pay attention," she says. "They're always watching for political unrest, anyways. We need to know where humanitarian work is going to be needed." She looks back at the screen. "What kind of work do they want you to do?" she asks.

"I don't know," I admit. "If I want to know more, I'll probably need to talk to them."

"Well, if they want to meet with you in a dark alley, I can send some Assassins to keep an eye on you," she says.

I nod.

"And you know that Thea and Roy would help, too," she reminds me. "It's not just you and Oliver against the world."

With that, she stands and opens the bedroom door. William has spread his homework out on the kitchen table, and Oliver is carrying clean sheets to the sofa.

"I'm going to head out," Samantha tells Oliver. "William has a driver's ed class tomorrow. Please don't forget it."

"I remembered last time." Oliver shoots me a look, like he really wants me to believe that he's a perfectly responsible parent. William doesn't say anything.

"Ok," Samantha says. "Behave yourself, William. And all of you - call me if you need anything."

"We will," I promise. She could be offering anything from delivery of forgotten schoolwork to secret escorts by Assassins. I hope we won't need any of them.

***

I wake to the sound of a very loud hip-hop recording. I blink and it stops, so I roll over and bury my face in Oliver's shoulder.

Ten minutes later, the song starts again.

Oliver extricates himself from my arms and sits up. "That's William's alarm," he says. "He's going to be late for school if he keeps hitting snooze." He leans over, kisses me, and climbs out of bed.

I must fall back to sleep, because the next thing I know, Oliver is quietly moving around the room, finding clothes.

"You don't have to get up," he says. "William just left, and I need to get to my first job, too."

I lie there and look at him. Waking up to clear vision is amazing. Especially because it means getting to ogle Oliver without putting on my glasses.

"There's some yogurt and fruit in the refrigerator, and some granola in the cupboard," he continues. "And you know all about the honey and spices for your tea." He pauses. "I wasn't planning to come home at lunch time," he adds. "Both my jobs are on the other side of town. But I'll see you this evening."

I give him a sleepy smile. "Ok," I say.

He smiles back, then closes the door behind him on his way out.

***

It is most definitely morning when I wake up again. I guess I was more tired than I realized; the last few days have been an emotional whirlwind. I grab my new clothes, take an uneventful shower, and eat some of Oliver's fruit and granola.

The sleep has left me with some clarity about how to deal with all of the messy variables involved in the Amanda Waller problem. And it should still be daytime in Kasnia. And also in Markovia.

I call each number - with a voice modulator based on the one that Oliver used to use as the Arrow - and leave a message.

And then I wait.

I'm working on new code to search for connections to the names that Samantha gave me when the first phone buzzes. The one on the right. I put the one that called Kasnia on my right, and the one that called Markovia on my left. I turn on the voice modulator and answer.

"Meghan Jones." They looked for me at my hotel. They already know that name.

"Ms. Jones." The voice is using a bad modulator of its own, like a computer voice in a movie from the 80s. It is so painful that it makes my teeth ache. "You want a job."

"What do you want me to do?" I ask.

"Find Amanda Waller," the voice says. "Send her location information to our site." The IP address. Right. "We will pay when we have the information."

Fortunately, I have secure routing information, completely isolated from my personal accounts and identifying information. I give them the numbers, and they hang up.

***

The Markovians text me. They want to meet. I send back some vague answers about needing more information. I need to find out more about them before doing anything in meatspace. And, yes, I need to check in with Samantha again. But she's busy at the moment - even the Demon's Head has a day job.

I'm immersed in more coding, this time ranking the strength of connections to Kasnia and Markovia, combined with financial irregularities, when the apartment door opens. I grab my gun, which fortunately is under the desk in my bag, and go out to investigate.

William stares at me from the kitchen. "Felicity," he says. "Why do you have a gun?"

I lower it and put it on the recliner, just outside the bedroom door. "Sorry," I say. "You startled me. What are you doing home already?"

"This is when school gets out," William says. "Don't you remember?"

I frown. Yes. I would pick him up after school, sneaking some ice cream while Oliver was still working. Before I moved in, I think Raisa did something similar. "I guess I just lost track of the time," I say.

He nods. "My mom had problems like that when she came back," he says. "She was jumpy, too. I guess that was the Lazarus Pit, huh." He must notice that I look surprised, and maybe unsure of what I can say. "Nyssa explained the Lazarus Pit to me after you called us," he says. "She told me that I should know all about it, given that I'm the Heir to the Demon."

Right. This is very weird.

After a moment, William continues. "Why did you dye your hair?"

"It isn't dyed," I tell him. "This is my natural hair color."

"Huh," William says. "Nyssa told me that people change when they come out of the Pit. Like my mom, being into women."

It's not quite like that. But I don't say it.

"I mean, Nyssa said that both of you needed to figure out who you were," he continues. "My mom figured out that she was gay. You figured out... that you have brown hair?" He frowns and glances at my hand. "You're not wearing your wedding ring any more."

"It wasn't with my things when I came out of the Pit," I tell him. "Your father probably took it when he stole my body from the morgue."

William blinks. "He stole your body?"

Oops. I guess Nyssa didn't tell William that part. "Don't tell your father that you know that," I backtrack. "And please don't ever steal bodies out of a morgue. You know that, right?"

His smile is too cynical. " _'Do as I say, not as I do'_ is a typical family rule."

I shake my head. "Your father..."

"I know," William says. "He doesn't do those things any more. And he has a lot of regrets. We talk about this. Like, every week. Even though I haven't done any of the things that he expects teenagers to do."

I don't want to take sides in arguments between William and Oliver. Not at the moment, at least. So I change the subject. "How's school?" I ask. "And everything else. You're learning to drive?"

He rolls his eyes. "I have to go to a class with bad slides and a guy who reads driving advice to us," he says. "It's useless."

I nod sympathetically. 

"I've learned more about cars from Uncle Roy," he says. "At least he shows me how to take them apart." 

"You like working on cars?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Not really. But Roy's cool, and he let me drive a few times." He looks worried. "Don't tell Dad. You'll get Roy in trouble."

That is some high-quality teenaged manipulation right there. "I don't want to get Roy in trouble," I say, trying not to commit to either side. "How's everything else? You're taking calculus now?"

He nods. "And AP computer science," he says. "I like that best."

"If you're trying to flatter me..." I start.

"No, seriously," he says. "Let me show you." He heads for Oliver's bedroom, then glances over his shoulder. "You've got a computer in there, don't you?" he asks. "I heard typing when I came in."

I follow him into the room. He jiggles the mouse to wake up the screens, pauses for a moment, and then opens another window.

William is showing me the third one of his programs when I hear the door open again.

"Hello?" Oliver calls.

"We're in here, Dad," William answers.

"We'd better head out," Oliver says. "I'm running late."

"And my driver's ed teacher doesn't like it when we're late," William finishes. "I know. Just let me..."

"I can shut it down," I interrupt. "Go. Don't miss driver's ed."

William rolls his eyes. "That class is the worst," he says. But he stands up and heads into the main room.

"The class takes about an hour," Oliver says. "Plus getting there and back. Do you need anything while I'm out?"

"You got so much food yesterday," I answer. "I'm fine."

"Ok," he says. He looks like he wants to say more, but William already has his shoes on. "We'll see you later."

I sit back down at the computer, and go back to my coding. The window with my work is still open, right beside the work that William was showing me. I close William's window, and continue sorting through the connections.


	10. Oliver

Oliver waits for William to buckle in, then pulls out of the parking garage. The driver's ed course is on the other side of the city, but Oliver knows how to make up time. He weaves around a slower car, shifting down and then back up, getting into the rhythm of the streets.

"When do I get to drive the Porsche?" William asks. 

Oliver blinks out of his reverie and glances at William, then back at the road. The brief hesitation means that a light turns yellow ahead of him, so Oliver brakes and waits for it to change.

"Your mother and I have talked about this," Oliver said. "You know the answer. You're going to practice driving in the minivan. It's safer."

William slumps in his seat. "Yeah," he says. "With Assassins in the back seat."

"This isn't a car for practicing on," Oliver tells him. The light turns green, and Oliver accelerates through it.

William gives him a sidelong look. "Don't you think I should learn how to drive a stick?" he asks.

"Of course," Oliver says. "Everyone should learn to drive a stick shift. You never know when you'll need it."

"Mom's car is an automatic," William points out.

"Which makes it a better car for a beginner," Oliver replies.

"But how will I learn..." William sees the look on his father's face, and subsides. "Uncle Roy said it was worth a try."

"This is ROY's idea?" Oliver turns a little too fast around a corner. "Roy doesn't get to drive the Porsche, either."

"Actually, the stick-shift argument came from Aunt Thea," William says. "But she didn't think it would work."

"I will discuss this with your aunt and uncle," Oliver says. "But in the meantime... just learn to drive the minivan safely. And next time Aunt Thea gives you driving advice, ask her about her first car."

William tries to get the story out of him, but Oliver won't tell it. They are still arguing when they get to the driving school.

"I'll be back in an hour," Oliver promises. "I know it's boring, but pay attention. You don't want to fail your driver's test."

William rolls his eyes. "I don't fail tests," he says. "See you later, Dad."

He's projecting attitude, but he still closes the door gently behind him. Oliver waits until he has entered the building, then heads for the bunker.

*** 

Oliver has already pinned seven tennis balls to the wall when Thea walks in. She looks at the wall, then at the three balls rolling on the floor, and presses her lips together.

"I know," Oliver says. "I missed three."

"My turn," Thea says, picking up her bow.

She pins eight out of ten to the wall and gives Oliver a look.

"Fine," Oliver says. "You win this one." 

"What brings you down here on a weeknight?" Thea asks, pulling arrows out of the balls.

"William has driver's ed," Oliver says. "And Roy thinks I'm dangerously out of practice."

Thea looks guilty. 

"You too?" Oliver shakes his head at her. 

"Seven out of ten," Thea points out. "Once upon a time, you didn't miss. Ever."

"Well, I'm practicing," Oliver says. "By the way, where did the screwdrivers go?"

"Do you mean the drink, or the tool?" Thea asks. "Because we keep the wet bar at home."

"The tool," Oliver replies. "You and Roy aren't the only ones who were worried about me. Last week, John asked how my aim with a screwdriver was."

"I assume he wasn't talking about putting in a cabinet," Thea says. "I guess that could be a decent weapon in an emergency. I'll look around."

She comes back with four different sizes. Oliver nods and takes them all.

"What do you want to use for a target?" she asks.

"Do you have any styrofoam?" Oliver responds.

"Like from packing material? Yeah, I think we've got some in this box." She pulls something out from beneath Felicity's old workspace. "You're lucky that we aren't very good about remembering when the garbage is supposed to go out." 

Oliver finds a marker and draws a target, then carries it to the workout space. It takes some effort to get it set up at the height of a human head, but eventually, it works. Oliver throws the first screwdriver.

Thea wrinkles her nose. "That was horrible, Ollie."

"The balance is tough." But Oliver knows that isn't much of an excuse. He has thrown far more awkward objects in the past.

He picks up the other ones and throws them, one at a time. The last one grazes the styrofoam, but not in a way that would be more than a temporary distraction.

"My turn," Thea says, picking up the screwdrivers where they are strewn across the floor.

She misses with the first two, but the third one makes a satisfying hole at the edge of the target. 

"Not bad," Oliver says.

"Still wouldn't stop an attacker," Thea admits. "Ok, now you try again."

They practice until Oliver can hit the middle of the target with the heaviest screwdriver. Thea has more luck with the mid-sized one; she argues that its balance is more intuitive. Oliver suspects that it is weighted like the League throwing knife that she carries as a back-up weapon, but Thea disagrees. 

They are still arguing when Oliver's phone buzzes.

"I've been waiting for you for five minutes," William says. "Where are you?"

"I'll be right there," Oliver replies. "Sorry. I lost track of the time."

"Ok," William says. "But I've got homework, too."

"I'm on my way," Oliver promises.

"I'll pick up these things," Thea offers. "This was fun. You should bring weird improvised weapons down here more often." She waves a screwdriver at him. "And let Felicity come along, too."

"Bye," Oliver says, and heads for the car.

*** 

Things are going pretty well, Oliver thinks as he brings the food to the table. William is doing his homework. Felicity has put away her coding and is reading the news on her tablet, and talking William through problems when he's confused. Clearing the table was a bit more complicated than usual, what with the chaotic scribbles that William and Felicity have been writing and tossing aside, and with needing space for three people. But Oliver will happily accept a little mess if it comes with a family.

William finishes putting his homework in his pack and goes into the kitchen to get the silverware. Felicity pours water for all of them. (Not wine. She doesn't even have to ask; she notices the little differences in Oliver-as-father, and adjusts to them. Just like before.)

And then they sit. And look at each other. And suddenly it's awkward again.

Oliver breaks the silence. "How was driver's ed?"

For once, William doesn't roll his eyes at that question. "We get to start driving on Saturday," he says. "Will you..."

"No," Oliver says. "You can't drive the Porsche."

That earns an eye-roll. "We're starting with the driver's ed car," he says. "You know, the one with the big yellow sign that says 'STUDENT DRIVER'?"

"Oh," Oliver says. "Right."

"I was GOING to ask if you had time to take me," William continues. "We have to go online and sign up. I was going to do it at the end of class, but you were late picking me up, and the teacher had to leave."

Oops. "Sorry," Oliver says. "You can sign up after dinner."

Felicity raises her eyebrows at him. She doesn't ask why he was late. But he can read the question on her face.

"I was talking to Thea," he explains.

"About driving?" William asks. "You better not have yelled at her."

"I don't..." Oliver sighs. "I don't yell at Aunt Thea. And we didn't discuss driving." He glances at Felicity. "We talked about... screwdrivers."

"Screwdrivers?" William frowns. "Whatever. You're weird, Dad."

***

Oliver doesn't really have time to talk to Felicity alone until they're in bed. Well, he could have talked while she changed out of her clothes. But he preferred to watch.

And now, she is under the sheets beside him, just lying there and looking.

Oliver smiles.

She smiles back, and traces the curve of his lips with a finger. He kisses it.

She pulls her finger away, then runs it along the edge of his beard, all the way to his ear, and then down to his neck. "What was that about screwdrivers?" she asks.

Oh. Talking first. Then sex. That's ok. Oliver likes talking. With Felicity. Almost as much as he likes sex with Felicity.

"Roy's comments about me being out of practice were bothering me," he admits. "I've been thinking about them all day."

"And that's related to screwdrivers because...?" Felicity asks.

"Last week, before everyone knew you were here, John called me at work to warn me about Amanda Waller," Oliver says. "I told you, didn't I? That he wanted to make sure I was practicing fighting?"

"You said something about power tools," she remembers. "I honestly didn't understand the context. I just went with it." 

"John was worried that I wouldn't be able to deal with Waller," he explains. "I told him that I could use power tools to fight."

"You have power screwdrivers?" Felicity asks.

"No," Oliver says. "Well, yes, I do. But those weren't the weapons that I was thinking of. I thought that I could throw a screwdriver like a knife. If I needed to."

"And...?" Felicity encourages. "Because it sounds like there's a story to be told."

"It's really hard to aim a screwdriver," Oliver admits. "I tried last week at work. And then again today. And then in the bunker." He shakes his head at himself. "Thea was in the bunker, too. We had a little competition."

"I'm sorry I missed that," Felicity says.

"Thea says you're welcome in the bunker any time." Well, technically she said that Oliver should let Felicity down there. But he figures that's what she really meant.

Felicity thinks about it. "I'd like that," she says. "And you know what else I would like?"

She slides her hand down Oliver's side, then brushes his penis, then slides her hand back up, pushing his shirt with it.

Oliver had been half-hard already - just lying beside Felicity in bed was enough - but the light touch is enough to bring him fully to attention. 

They undress silently, slide on a condom, and have slow, quiet sex, just rocking against one another until they come.

***

The next morning, William is out of bed by the time his second alarm goes off. Felicity mumbles something incoherent, but smiles when Oliver kisses her, and goes back to sleep. William pours his own cereal and starts watching something on his phone, but it's early enough that Oliver is able to take a quick shower and be finished before William needs to leave.

When Oliver gets out of the shower, Felicity is already up, wearing a pair of Oliver's sweatpants with the legs rolled up. She and William are deep in a conversation about one of William's school projects, so Oliver just makes some coffee and listens to them until William's go-to-school-NOW alarm blasts out. William grabs his pack and heads down.

"He takes the city bus to school?" Felicity asks.

"Samantha drives him when he's at her place," Oliver replies. "But his school is closer to this end of town. He doesn't even have to change buses."

"No wonder he was asking whether I used to drive myself to school," she says. "I wasn't much help, though. I barely had my license before I started college. And driving in Boston is scary."

"He's not driving the Porsche," Oliver grumbles. "Please back me up on this one."

Felicity laughs. "I'm still in long-lost cool aunt mode," she says. "Please let me enjoy it."

Oliver isn't quite sure what that means, but he decides not to follow up. "I need to get going, too," he says. "I need to pick up some lumber before the first job today."

"How do you manage lumber with the Porsche?" Felicity tilts her head, as if trying to picture anything fitting into the trunk.

"There's a van at the office," Oliver says. "I leave it there. It's too tall for the parking garage."

"I'll remember that," Felicity says. "In case I need to run over someone."

"It has a logo on the side," Oliver says. "Please avoid vehicular homicide in my work vehicle."

She grins at him. "Fair enough."

"What are your plans?" Oliver asks.

"I'm going to go through the results of my last attempt to sort all of the suspicious connections to Amanda Waller," she says. "Maybe go for a walk."

"I've got free time at lunch," Oliver says. "Want to meet somewhere?"

Felicity eyes him carefully. "Here?"

Oliver grins widely at that. "I'll be here," he promises.

"I'll be... hungry." Felicity raises her eyebrows. 

"Right." Oliver's pants are suddenly tight. "I'd better go," he apologizes. "Mornings at the lumberyard are busy."

Felicity stands and gives him a kiss. "I'll see you at lunch." She walks into the bedroom and shuts the door.

Which finally gives Oliver an opportunity to leave.


	11. I, spinning my wheels

My morning is completely unproductive. The sex at lunchtime is great, though Oliver doesn't have time to stay and talk for long. When he's gone, I sit back down at the computer and stare at the screen.

I don't have much time to accomplish things this afternoon, I realize. I look at both of the burner phones, then pick up the one that I used to contact the Markovians. Samantha did offer to send Assassins as backup if I needed it. It won't be that dangerous just to meet them. Right?

I text the Markovians and ask for more information about a meeting time and place, then call Samantha with my normal phone. She answers right away, and promises to give her local Assassins warning about the impending job.

The Markovians text back. The location is, surprisingly, not an abandoned warehouse. It's a coffee shop in an upscale neighborhood. I tell them that it will take a while to get there, and convince them to delay the meeting for an hour. That should give me time to talk to them and return to Oliver's apartment before William gets home from school. Plus the Assassins should be able to get to the coffee shop before I do. I call Samantha and warn her that she might be paying for a whole bunch of lattes.

Samantha laughs. What a great change - a Ra's al Ghul with a sense of humor.

I change my clothes, stash my gun in my bag, and catch a bus to the business district. When I get there, I look for a cab. (I can pay with cash, and I won't have to use an app on any of my phones. Taxis are a good way to avoid both blisters and surveillance.) As I hail the cab, one of the Palmer Tech board members rushes by. He's on his phone and doesn't see me until his briefcase catches on my bag, and he stumbles as he tries to get it free. He stares for a moment. I give him an appropriately annoyed look and get into the taxi.

"Wow," the driver says. "He was rude."

"Probably not the first time," I answer, and give him the address of the coffee shop.

"He could have apologized, at least," the driver grumbles. "Cell phones. Worst invention ever." He glances back at me. "Thanks for riding with me rather than getting an Uber."

"No problem," I say as we drive away. I don't look back to see if the Palmer Tech guy is still watching me. Well, ok. Maybe I steal one quick glance. But I am totally cool and subtle about it.

When we get to the coffee shop, I make sure to tip the driver well, and hope that I wasn't a particularly memorable fare.

There's one Assassin sitting by the window, sipping something with a lot of whipped cream. Another one is in line. They probably aren't obvious to most people - they aren't wearing veils or swords or anything. But I have Talia al Ghul's memories; I can recognize an Assassin by the way she sits, or stands, or gazes around at a crowd.

My contact doesn't seem to be here yet - he was going to wear a Rockets hat, which should be rare during this season (especially given how bad the Rockets were last year). I pull my own hat out of my bag and plop it onto my head. (Ok, so it's actually Oliver's Rockets hat, and it's big on me. But it hides my face a little, which is good.) The line is fairly quick, and soon I have ordered a chai and found a seat at a table that's visible to all of the Assassins.

Finally, my contact walks in. It's the same man as in the hotel video, I think. Which is possibly good news - maybe the Markovians only have one person in Star City. But that's probably not the case, which means there could be someone else watching, ready to corner me.

At least it's at a coffee shop, I remind myself. Ambushing me here would be tricky.

The contact walks to my table - not even buying a drink - and sits down.

"Hi," I say. "Meghan."

He nods, but doesn't give me a name.

"How can I help you?" I ask. "You said you wanted to hire me."

"Yes," he says. It's an American accent, not Markovian.

"I do computer contract work," I tell him. "Coding. Data analysis."

"We need you to find someone," he says. "We think you know where she is."

 _Again?_ I think. But out loud, all I say is: "I don't understand. Please, explain more."

"You were searching for information about someone," he says. "Then you disappeared. You must have found something."

"I don't discuss past clients," I say coldly. That's what I would say if I were really doing this kind of consulting. I think.

"We will pay for whatever information you have," he says. "Anything that will lead us to Amanda Waller."

 _Get in line_ , I think.

"I'll do my best," I tell him.

"Payment on delivery," he says. "Use the number that you have."

And with that, he gets up and leaves.

I watch him go and sip my chai. One of the other customers says something snarky about the Rockets, and I just shrug.

When I finish my drink, I get up, bus my table, and prepare for another trip across town by taxi and bus. The Assassins don't look at me, but as I get into my cab, I see the first one leaving.

***

I wait until I'm back at Oliver's apartment to text Samantha. A message that says _'I'm safe, all's well'_  just seems like an invitation for disaster if it's sent too early.

I think for a bit, and then I send: _Back at Oliver's. No problems. Thanks for the support._

 _No problem_ , comes the immediate reply. _William's going to ask you something when he gets there. If he forgets, please ask how classes are going. :)_

 _Sure thing_ , I text back.

I've barely had time to settle in at my computer when the door opens. William is home.

"Hello?" he calls.

"I'm back here," I answer. "Just finishing something. You can come in if you want."

He pokes his head into the bedroom. "No gun this time," he notes, walking over to look at my screen.

I close the window with the newest code, and smile at him. "I was expecting you this time," I say. "How was school?"

"Fine," he replies.

"Classes going ok?" I prompt.

He looks at me sharply. "Did you already talk to my mom?"

"Maybe," I waffle. "Why?"

"I've got a chemistry test tomorrow," he says. "Mom usually helps me study for those, because Dad just looks at the equations and does this." William does an impression of Oliver's totally confused face. It's adorable on Oliver, and it's even more amusing on William.

"Chemistry was never my strongest subject," I admit. "But I'll do my best."

"Mom says that you'll remember more than you think you do." William frowns at me. "Whatever she means by that."

"Oh," I reply. Because yes, I do have Samantha's memories. And though a lot of them involve William's childhood, some of them go back to her high school and college days, when she wanted to be a doctor.

"I've got notes, if that helps," William adds. "And I can study with a quizlet if you want. That's what I usually do when I'm with Dad."

"I'll see what I can do," I say, taking the notebook from him. It's stuffed with papers, and it's hard to read his handwriting. But as I look at it, my mind shows me other notes. Neater. Multi-colored. The kind of notes that someone who dreams of medical school would take.

Yes, I can definitely do this.

*** 

We're still working on chemistry when Oliver gets home. He looks at William, and then at me, and back at William. It's pretty clear that he has no idea what we're talking about, but he gets a silly grin on his face, anyways. He gives me a little wave, then retreats to the kitchen. Soon, the apartment smells like pizza.

William stops and sniffs.

"It's almost ready," Oliver says, sticking his head into the bedroom. "What about the two of you?"

"I'm starving," William says.

Oliver's grin gets wider. "It will be out of the oven in a moment."

After dinner, William gets absorbed by his phone, and I start another search. But this time, it's a different approach. This time, I'm searching every online camera in the country for Amanda Waller's face.

It's a lot of data. The search will need to run overnight.

Oliver comes into the bedroom and lies down on the bed. 

I turn and look at him. "Hi," I say.

"Hi," he replies. "How was your day?"

"I had a very nice lunch," I answer, as deadpan as possible. "How was yours?"

"Same," he grins.

I look at the door. William is still there, staring at his phone. No earphones at the moment, I notice. So I swallow the innuendo and decide to talk about something else. "How's the cabinet?"

"I finished installing it," he says.

"Then what happens?" I ask.

"Then I have to spend some time in the office," he grimaces. "Organizing receipts for the materials. Billing my hours."

"Ugh," I say.

"But then I start designing the next project," he says. "That part's fun. I get to talk to the customers, visit the spaces, then draw something up and show it to them." 

I tilt my head at him. "Could you show me some of your designs?''

He has them on a flash drive, so he goes through them, one at a time, explaining the little details about each one.

Finally, William says goodnight, and we shut the door. Then we fall into each other's arms and fuck as quietly as possible until we're ready to sleep.


	12. Oliver

_There really are too many receipts_ , Oliver thinks as he sits in the office, working on the boring but necessary part of his work. Materials, time, invoice. Time, materials, invoice. Go through e-mails from potential customers. Return phone calls. Schedule a consultation. Answer a knock on the door... 

Oliver frowns. He doesn't think he has a meeting scheduled for another hour. "Come in," he calls. 

The door opens. "Hi, Oliver," Susan Williams says. "It's been a while."

"You switched from reporting on politics to business," Oliver remembers. "And now I'm in business. Are you doing a story about carpentry?"

"No," Susan replies. "But sometimes, in my work, things come up. Things that aren't related to stories that I'm planning to cover, but which catch my attention anyways." She pulls out a folder. "Like these photos."

Oliver looks at the top one. It's a photo of him, in the coffeehouse. Talking to Felicity. He looks up at Susan. "I was on a date," he says. "Not that it's anyone's business."

Susan eyes him carefully. "I have a number of paparazzi who try to sell me information for stories," she says. "They are less useful than they were when I covered politics."

Oliver shrugs. "Seems like they're short on stories, if they're still following me," he says.

"Former mayor," Susan counters. "Retired vigilante. And before that, the playboy who came back from the dead."

"Old news," Oliver says.

"Maybe." Susan doesn't sound like she's conceding. "But that woman looked familiar. Perhaps because of a name that I overheard yesterday. The board of Palmer Tech held a press conference... you know their CEO is leaving to take a job with Wayne Industries, don't you?"

Oliver hadn't known. He hasn't paid attention to his old company in years. 

"The conversations beforehand are often more interesting than the press conferences," Susan continues. "The board members were talking about the problems they've had keeping CEOs, and one of them said he had just seen something strange." She watches Oliver for a reaction. "He said that he had run into a woman who looked for all the world like Felicity Smoak. Literally run into, on the street." 

Oliver tries to keep his face still.

"And that evening, my paparazzi contact showed me some photos. Of a woman who looks a lot like Felicity Smoak." She nods at the photos. "There are more."

Oliver flips through them. There's a photo of him with Felicity in the restaurant, and of them coming out of the police station together. And a photo of Felicity in another coffee shop, talking to a different man.

"I was happy for you when you got married, you know." Susan sounds a bit regretful, despite her words. "And I was sorry when your wife and baby died." She pauses. "The paparazzi didn't know who she was. But even though she isn't the first person in this city to come back from the dead, this would be news."

Oliver looks carefully at her. "Susan, are you blackmailing me?"

"No," Susan says. "I'm warning you. I bought these photos - they weren't expensive, my contact didn't realize what they were - and I'm giving them to you. So you can control your own story. But if he has photos, so do other people. And stories like this don't stay secret forever, even if I don't tell them." She shrugs. "At the very least, tell Felicity that her dye job doesn't do a very good job of hiding her identity."

"It's not a dye job," Oliver says. "It's her natural color. She used to dye her hair blonde."

Susan raises her eyebrows at him. "Like I said, I won't tell this story," she says. "It's not my usual beat." She stands and turns to go.

Oliver is too busy looking at the photos to see when she leaves the room.

***

 _Maybe it's time to take an unplanned lunch break. At home_ , Oliver thinks.

Felicity looks up and smiles when he comes in. "This is a nice surprise," she says.

Oliver frowns and pulls out the photo of her with the other man in the coffee house.

She looks at it. "This isn't what it looks like," she starts.

"It looks like you met with the Markovian guy who wanted to offer you a job," Oliver says. "Alone. Without telling anyone."

Felicity blinks. "Without telling YOU, you mean."

"Well..." Oliver says. "Yes. Without telling me."

"I didn't have a chance to tell you," she says. "You were working. And before that, William was here."

"We had lunch together yesterday..." Oliver reminds her.

"And it was a very nice lunch," Felicity says.

"You could have told me then," Oliver insists.

Felicity stands, as fierce as every time she has stood up to him. "I told Samantha. There were Assassins there. Drinking lattes. Everything was fine."

"Fine?" Oliver asks. "Did you even see the person snapping pictures?"

"No," she replies.

"So how do you know it was safe?" Oliver presses.

"Oliver," Felicity says. "Look. I wasn't getting anywhere with my coding. I needed to know what they wanted. And you asked me what I wanted to do." She stares at him. "So you didn't actually mean it?"

"I... " Oliver takes a breath. "Yes. I meant it. Of course I meant it. It's just..." He shakes his head and forces himself to keep from pacing around the room. "Something could have happened to you. And I wouldn't have known."

"Because whenever I do something on my own, I need to be rescued?" Felicity challenges him.

"No," Oliver says. "Well. Maybe yes. And..." He looks away, trying to gather his thoughts. "If something happened... I don't know if I would be able to rescue you. I'm out of practice. My bow is locked up in Thea and Roy's bunker. And... I don't know what I would do."

Felicity shakes her head at him. "Maybe you should remember that I'm not the old Felicity any more," she says.

Oliver freezes.

"I was carrying my own gun," she continues. "I know how to use it. And I had Assassins watching my back." She sighs. "I love you. And I love William. But I'm not the same Felicity that I was before. I know we've been pretending that I am... but I'm not."

She picks up her bag - the bag with the gun - and walks out of the apartment.


	13. I, somewhat confused badass

I've been standing at Samantha's door for a while when Nyssa finally opens it. She's wearing a bathrobe, and the shower is running somewhere in the back of the apartment.

"William said that Samantha doesn't work on Wednesdays...?" I start. "I mean, I hope I didn't disturb anything."

Nyssa smirks at me. "Samantha will be out soon." She leaves me in the entryway and yells something into the back. "There are advantages to shared custody," she says as she returns.

I nod. There really isn't anything else to do, except walk into the living room, sit in a chair, and wait.

It only takes a few minutes before the shower shuts off, and Samantha emerges, dressed but still drying her hair.

"What's going on?" she asks. "I know there isn't something wrong with William."

Nyssa smiles at her. "We have a code," she explains. "Child emergencies. Assassin emergencies. Non-emergencies that require attention."

Presumably, my appearance falls into the third category. "I... I'm not sure," I confess, trying to answer Samantha's question. "I... think I need some help figuring out who I am."

Samantha stops with her towel still draped halfway over her head. "Is the blood lust back?" she asks.

"No," I assure her. "Nothing like that."

"You fought with your husband," Nyssa observed.

"Well..." I say. "Yes. Kind of. You know how I went to meet the guy working with the Markovians," I remind them.

Samantha nods. "You said everything was fine."

"It was," I agree. "Except for the part where Oliver found out. And was upset."

"I thought you said that he left the decision up to you?" Samantha frowns.

"He did." I purse my lips. "He just wasn't happy that I had the meeting without telling him."

"You kept that from him?" Nyssa asks. "Why?"

I shrug. "There wasn't a good time to talk to him, with William there."

They both look skeptically at me.

"And maybe I was afraid he would tell me not to," I confess. "I wasn't that sure it was the right decision. And when I can't make up my mind..." I sigh. "I always give in to him. He has always been so overprotective."

Samantha and Nyssa share a look.

"I would be angry if Samantha went into danger without telling me," Nyssa says. "Even if a hundred Assassins were protecting her."

"Aren't you usually there, too?" I ask. I haven't heard how this works - the badass Assassin, and Ra's al Ghul.

Nyssa shakes her head.

"Nyssa always stays back," Samantha explains. "We never go into danger together. There's always one behind, to rescue the other if we need it. Or to take care of William if the worst thing happens."

"So you're saying I should just deal with it?" I ask them.

"No," Samantha says. "I'm saying that worrying is normal in a relationship."

I nod slowly.

"Is that the reason for your visit?" Nyssa asks. "Because you fought with Oliver?"

"You said you didn't know who you were." Samantha gives me a long, careful look. "What's going on with that?"

I slump into my chair. "I can't figure out who would have let Amanda Waller go," I tell them. "I've filtered the data and correlated it in a dozen different ways. And I'm no closer to knowing who's working with her, or why they put bombs in a man's head."

Samantha perks up. "That was surgery," she says.

"Of course it was surgery." I roll my eyes. "Do you think bombs are implanted by magic?"

Samantha shakes her head. "If there was surgery, there were doctors," she says. "And a hospital. Maybe you don't need to sort out the motivation first." She looks at me. "Maybe you need to find the doctor."

"There are lots of doctors who work with ARGUS," I frown. "And they wouldn't keep medical records for bomb-implantation surgery. I don't even know what keywords to use in the searches."

"They would hide the surgery as something else." Samantha looks into the distance, thinking it through. "Something that could explain the anesthesia that they used, and the time involved, and the equipment."

"I don't even know where to start with that," I grumble.

"Maybe not," Samantha says. "But I do. Do you have your computer with you?" 

I don't. I left it at Oliver's apartment. I look at them and shake my head.

Samantha and Nyssa give each other a significant look.

"The fight was not that serious if you left your computer behind," Nyssa notes.

"I can go back there with you," Samantha offers. "Between the two of us, we might make a decent start." She raises her eyebrows at me. "And you know more than you realize, you know."

That's right. I have Samantha's memories.

"William texted me after his chemistry test," Samantha adds. "He thinks he did really well."

"Chemistry isn't brain surgery," I remind her.

"And I've never done brain surgery," Samantha agrees. "But it wouldn't hurt to try this. Right?"

***

Between Samantha and me, we've got more ways to constrain the possibilities.

We know when Marvin Miller disappeared from prison. I can find a list of doctors who have worked with ARGUS in the past several years. Samantha knows what skills they would need to implant a bomb in the top of a spine. I'm able to do a search through their employment records to determine who has those skills. Samantha has an idea of what kinds of procedures could be reported in order to hide the disappearance of the consumables, and the time in the operating room, and the blood-soaked trash from the operation. And I can find evidence that the medical records have been tampered with, or falsified.

There are still too many shady ARGUS surgeons out there. (Though, shady surgeons? Yuck. Even one would be too many.) I've got five candidates, and I can winnow down that list some more if I consider the Kasnia angle, and the finances. And I can search their e-mails for evidence.

I can work with this.

Samantha grins back at me, and I start typing.

It's been going really well for more than an hour when Samantha stops and looks at me.

"This is who you are," she says.

"Well, yes." I don't look away from the screen. "This is who I've always been."

"But it's not everything," she adds.

I look up at that. "What do you mean?"

"I was still pretty confused when I came back to Star City, you know," she reminds me. "I had always wanted to help heal people. And I had always been attracted to women, even if I never admitted it. But it was weird, being in charge of the League of Assassins."

"I imagine." I want her to stop talking, because I'm actually getting somewhere with this mystery. Finally. But I used to be the person who listened. So I try.

"Nyssa and I argued a lot while we were figuring it out," she continues. "That surprised me. I thought that everything would be easy, falling in love, doing what I had always wanted. But Nyssa was raised as an Assassin, and she had a lot of ideas of how things should be. And I had things that I wanted to change."

"Right." Still not sure why Samantha is talking at me.

"And on top of that... Talia al Ghul is in my head. I remember her as a child who needed love, and who was convinced that power and love were the same thing, until all she wanted was power. I remember what she wanted from the Assassins, and what she wanted the Assassins to become. And every time I try to change things, I have to struggle, wondering whether it's my idea, or Talia's." Samantha looks into the distance. I do that, too, when I'm hearing the other voices.

I've got Talia in my head, too. But I don't remember her childhood, not like that.

"And then there was William," Samantha adds. "For over a year, Talia had been grooming me to kill him. And then suddenly I was back to being the mother of a teenager."

I tilt my head and listen.

"What I'm trying to say..." Samantha stops and collects her words. "When you figure out who you are... it's not just one thing. And maybe some of the things that you were before the Pit - maybe they're still part of who you are. I'm still William's mother, on top of everything else. And I have to deal with what he needs, and how _he_ has changed."

"And the blood lust?" I ask. "Does that complicate things?"

"I don't want to kill William," Samantha says. "Nyssa reminds me of that. And Thea, too. And Oliver has actually been a lot of help, taking over parent duties when I need him to." She shakes her head. "I was worried about him at first. Worried that he would want to just be the cool dad and leave the hard parts to me. Worried that he would want to swoop in and rescue William, or take him to a hockey game, and never deal with homework or teenage drama. But Oliver's been good. Responsible."

I frown at her. "What are you saying?"

"Other people change, too, without ever going into the Pit," Samantha explains. "And that includes Oliver. You don't want to kill him. That's a start. But both of you have to figure out who this new person is, this person you're with. At the same time that you're so completely familiar to each other."

***

We're interrupted by the apartment door opening.

"Hello?" Oliver's voice is cautious. 

"It's us," I call out. "Me. And Samantha."

Oliver leans into the room, looking from one of us to the other. "Hey."

"Hey," I reply. "We're finally making some headway on our exploding head friend. It just took some of Samantha's medical knowledge and my coding." I type some more.

"Ok...?" He looks at Samantha for an explanation.

"Felicity came over to talk to us," she says. "She was stuck. I offered to help." She looks at me, then at the screen. "I can also take William home with me tonight, if you need some time without him."

Oliver glances at me, but I'm not ready to look back. Not quite yet.

"You helped out when I needed some time to get my head together," Samantha tells him. "I can return the favor, if you need some time with just the two of you."

"If that's ok...?" He looks at me for permission.

I look at Samantha. She totally planned this. And... maybe I'm ok with it. "Sure," I say.

"I'll meet William at the bus stop," Samantha says. "We'll be back up in a bit to get his stuff. And Felicity..." She gives me an encouraging smile. "You'll figure this out. All of it."

She grabs her rain jacket and heads out.

***

Oliver and I just look at each other for a moment, then start talking at the same time.

"Sorry..."

"I didn't mean..." He stops and lets me finish.

"I'm sorry that I jumped to conclusions. About you wanting to rescue me." I shrug. "Nyssa pointed out that she and Samantha worry about each other, too."

"Well..." Oliver hesitates. "I did kind of think that I might have to rescue you. And I'm sorry that I didn't trust your judgment, or your ability to take care of yourself." He gives me a wry smile. "John and Roy and Thea keep reminding me that I'm out of practice. You might be safer on your own."

"Well, I did have Assassins keeping an eye on me," I remind him. "I don't trust myself in a fight, either. I mean, yes, I trained with Lyla. But I don't have the experience that either of you have."

Oliver's eyes light up. "Would you like..." He stops, like he's not sure if he's crossing a line.

I wave my hands to encourage him to continue.

"William's going to be at Samantha's place tonight," he says. "Would you like to come down to the bunker?"

"Yes!" I exclaim. Then I frown. "Why were you hesitant about asking me?"

"The last time we talked about this..." He blushes. "The last time we talked about going to the bunker, we were in bed. And I didn't want you to think I was propositioning you."

I raise my eyebrows. But before I can respond, there's a knock on the door, and William and Samantha come in.

"Mom said I needed to knock," he tells us, looking from Oliver to me and back. When we don't answer, he shrugs.

"I hear the chemistry test went well," I remember, as he goes to pick up his things.

"It was great!" he says. "Thank you!"

"Call me or Nyssa and let us know if you want William to stay another night," Samantha says.

"Just remember that I'm scheduled for driving practice on Saturday," William reminds us.

"We'll sort that out," Oliver promises. "And no, you can't start with the Porsche."

I grin at William. "You're going to keep asking, aren't you."

Oliver gives me a mock-annoyed look. Samantha sees, and smiles. "I'll check in tomorrow and talk about the plan," she says. "William. Come on."

William grins at me, but follows her out the door.

***

We take the Porsche to the bunker and park it underneath. There's another car there, an unfamiliar one, up on blocks.

"Roy's project," Oliver explains. "It was barely running when he brought it down here."

"It doesn't look like it's running now, either," I comment.

Oliver just grins. "It's been like that for a year," he says. "Roy got elected to City Council, and then his free time disappeared. He complains about it all the time."

"And you warned him about exactly that?" I guess.

"I've even said _I told you so_." Oliver's words might not say it, but I think he looks proud of Roy.

Other things are different, too, especially when we go upstairs into the bunker. Most of the cases are empty - just two matching red hoods for Thea and Roy, plus Dinah's Black Canary things. The cabinet with the guns is mostly clean, and the medical supplies look fine, but the table with my computers...

"Oh. My. God." I stare at it.

Several monitors are unplugged and covered with dust. The cables are in a massive tangle on the desk and on the floor. And the keyboard...

"Is that COFFEE on the keyboard?" I shake my head. "I bet they haven't upgraded the malware protection in two years."

Oliver winces. "Malware protection?"

"Don't," I tell him. "Just don't. This hurts my soul."

"I'm sure they would be happy to have you sort it out," Oliver says. "Sometime when they're here." He walks over to the training area and picks up his bow.

Right. Training. I follow him.

The mats are in the same place, at least. And there are a bunch of new targets set up, and what looks like some soundproof walls.

"Dinah?" I ask.

"Sometimes," Oliver says. "They also use this space for close-range firearms work." 

There's a mat there, too. I look at it curiously.

"Disarming drills," Oliver says. "Thea reminds everyone that she is small and needs to practice fighting against bigger and heavier opponents."

"It's in the soundproof room," I note. "They don't actually practice with live ammunition, do they?"

"They've got paintball guns for that," Oliver shows me. "As for why it's in the soundproof room - I honestly don't know. Maybe Dinah's working on using her cry while grappling, too."

I walk around, looking through the various weapons, wondering what I should train with. The salmon ladder is in the corner, but I ignore it. This is all about business, after all.

Oliver has grabbed a quiver of arrows, some tennis balls, and a handful of screwdrivers. I find some ear muffs and a silencer for my pistol, and decide to practice with that, first. Oliver sees what I'm doing, and grabs a pair of ear muffs and another handgun for himself.

We take turns, stopping to mark our hits on the target every time we switch. Neither one of us is bad - Oliver may be out of practice, but an out-of-practice Oliver is far more skilled than most trained shooters. ARGUS would hire him in a heartbeat. Finally, we put the guns aside.

"So what's the story with the screwdrivers?" I ask Oliver.

"It started as a joke between John and me," Oliver starts. "Back when I was starting to do carpentry work. John reminded me that I used to take people out with butter knives, and he asked what I was carrying on the job. The closest thing I had to a knife was a screwdriver."

I pick up a screwdriver and hold it. "How do you throw it?" I ask.

He picks up another one, hefts it to test its weight, and sends it spinning towards the end of the room. It bounces off.

"Thea and I made some targets with styrofoam, so the screwdrivers would stick if they hit blade-first," Oliver says.

"Could you get them?" I ask. "I'd like to try."

We set up the styrofoam targets, draw pictures on them with Sharpies, and go back across the room. I pick up one of the screwdrivers and heft it like Oliver did. It feels familiar in my hand, and I follow some kind of muscle memory as I lift, aim, and let it spin across the room.

Oliver stares at it, impaled in the middle of our stick-figure's head.

"Beginner's luck," I shrug.

"Here." He hands me another. "Try again."

This one is weighted a little differently, but somehow, I know how to adjust. The screwdriver flies through the air, knocks the first one aside, and replaces it.

The third one doesn't stick very well, because the hole in the styrofoam has gotten too big. So I throw the fourth one at a different target.

After eight screwdrivers have hit every target we set up, Oliver finally asks the question that I can't answer.

"How?" he frowns. "Have you been practicing this at ARGUS? With knives? Or...?"

I shake my head. "I don't know," I reply. "It just feels... familiar."

He raises his eyebrows.

"Maybe Talia's memories?" I suggest. "Maybe Isabel Rochev's. Maybe Amanda Waller's. I don't know."

"Talia," Oliver nods. "That looked like one of Talia's moves. She taught me to throw a knife like that." He looks at the tennis balls. "Can you use a bow, as well?"

He finds Thea's practice bow. It's the closest to the right size for me. It feels comfortable in my hand, but pulling the string back is tricky. Still, I know how to nock the arrow. To line up everything with the target. To aim... and release.

My arm shakes from the effort, and the arrow flies wide.

"I know how to do it," I tell him. "But pulling the string is hard. I don't think yoga gives me the right upper-arm strength, or something."

He looks around the room.

"No," I tell him. "You are not going to make me slap water."

He looks sheepish. "Ok."

"I'm not going to start carrying a bow," I tell him. "It's too hard to conceal. And Thea would kill me if I took her weapon."

"And Roy doesn't want more vigilantes messing things up," Oliver agrees.

"But you should still practice," I suggest. "I'll watch."

He pulls out the tennis balls, throws them, draws, and fires.

One ball bounces away.

"Damnit," he says.

"I'll get some more balls," I offer. 

He throws another set, draws, and fires. Again. And again. After four more groups, he's starting to sweat. He dries his head off with a towel and untucks his shirt.

"It might be cooler if you did it shirtless," I suggest.

He raises his eyebrows at me. I smirk back.

He pulls off his shirt.

On the fifth shirtless set, he finally hits every one of the balls.

"Nice," I say.

He nods thanks, and puts the bow aside. "Want to work on anything else?"

"Disarming drills." I've been thinking about the possibilities. "They've still got the fake guns here for practicing, right? I want to try to disarm someone your size - Lyla's not very big, and I've mostly practiced with her. But I just want to grapple, not shoot, so we don't need to use the paint guns."

So I stand on the mat, and he gets a fake gun, and we practice. First standing, just pointing the gun aside. Then twisting his wrist to get the gun away. Then with him standing at a distance. And then I practice throws, which are the part that I expect to be hard. But although he is heavy, my body knows how to move to put him off balance. Twice I throw him to the ground. The third time, I end up on top of him. He looks up at me, and suddenly I realize that he is getting hard underneath me.

"I don't want to know who I learned those moves from," I tell him. "Hopefully you don't, either." I wriggle against him.

He gasps. "I don't remember doing any kind of training that was quite like this."

I lean down and kiss him.

He reaches up and tries to tangle his fingers in my hair, but they slide out. I growl and deepen the kiss, and he wraps his fingers around the base of my neck, pulling me in closer. I grind down onto him, and he thrusts up, and then in one motion, he has flipped us over.

"I need to learn that move," I whisper, as I reach for his waistband.

He lifts up slightly so I can pull down his pants. He pushes up my shirt and struggles with my bra. After a few attempts, he rolls to the side and lets me undress myself.

Finally, we are lying on the mat, naked, staring at each other.

"Damnit," he swears.

"What?" I ask.

"No condoms in here," he says.

We look back at the door. My bag is somewhere on the other side of the bunker.

I look back at him. "I have another idea."

I spin on the mat. It's still slippery from our sweat, and it only takes one move to put me exactly where I want to be, looking at his quite enthusiastic cock. He lifts his head from its spot near my hips, raises an eyebrow, and leans forward, rubbing his scruff against my belly.

I wriggle my hips toward him, until his nose bumps my clit. "Please," I say.

He must tilt his head or something, because the next thing I know, his breath is warm against my clit, and then his tongue has moved up to lap at the damp spot and then somehow he is sucking on my clit and his fingers are on my hips and I'm already throbbing and fluttering.

And his cock is in front of my face. It twitches. I stroke it once with my hand, and then nuzzle it with my lips and my nose. He thrusts, probably involuntarily, and I catch the tip in my mouth and run my tongue around it. He moans, and I feel his breath against my clit where his lips are around it and I suck and he sucks and my bones are coming loose and I think I'm saying something and he's laughing and then his head has arched back and the warm liquid is spraying onto my neck.

We collapse, rolling away from each other and spinning again until we are face to face and we kiss, sloppy and relaxed, tasting ourselves on the other's tongue.

And then we hear the pounding on the door.

"Hey," Roy calls. "I know it's hard to hear anything in there. But there's a shirt on the floor, and Thea's bow is lying out, and Felicity's bag is beside the computers, and you should really both get dressed before we decide that we need to come in with guns because someone has invaded the bunker."

We scramble for our clothes, dress as quickly as possible, and open the door.

"This is not what I meant when I said you should let Felicity come down here," Thea says. "You have an apartment, you know."

Oliver gives an innocent shrug.

"Felicity's shirt is on backwards," Thea points out.

"There's some disinfectant in the corner," Roy says. "Please use it."

"And fix your shirt before you come out," Thea suggests. "Both of you." She throws Oliver's shirt at him.

We find the spray bottle and a rag, clean the mat, and pick up all the weapons before we leave the room.

***

Thea and Roy are sitting in front of the computer when we finally emerge. I wince.

"You know your malware detection is out of date," I tell them. "And you really need to sort out those cables."

"I don't know how to do anything except read e-mail," Roy admits. "And Thea uses it for Facebook."

"Oh, for crying out loud." I grab a chair and push them aside. "Just let me deal with it."

"Welcome back," Thea says. "It's good to have you down here." 

I just start plugging things in and typing. At least the wi-fi isn't dead, though the internet connection is painfully slow.

"So what brings you down here?" Roy asks. "Given that you actually have a bed at home."

"Felicity and I decided to do some training," Oliver tells them. "Want to see?"

They go into the other room and thankfully leave me alone. Because, wow, it's a good thing that they don't do any vigilante work on this computer, because every one of their key strokes is being logged by a Kasnian hacker group. I clean it up and make sure there's a bunch of fake activity, mostly involving baby sea otter photos, that will be sent to anyone who is watching. I've taken care of the worst of it by the time they come out.

"Badass," Roy says.

"So you are officially the best screwdriver-thrower on the team," Thea adds. "We should give you a new code name."

"Are you planning to carry a set of tools with you?" Roy asks. "I don't think those tiny screwdrivers that you use for computer repairs would do much damage, no matter how good your aim is."

"I'm not planning to be an action hero," I tell them. "I just wanted to be sure that I can take care of myself if I need to." I look at Oliver. "Though I promise to let you know where I'm going from now on."

"So what's the plan for the rest of the evening?" Thea asks. "Ollie told us that William's at Samantha's place tonight."

We look at each other. "I had planned to get Big Belly Burger for William," Oliver confessed. "That's what he usually wants on Wednesdays."

"Sounds great to me," I agree. "Burgers, fries, shakes... and we're going to figure out who let Amanda Waller out of prison." 

"Nice romantic evening," Roy comments. "Have fun."

Oliver shakes his head at them.

"We will," I assure them.

***

Even though we're eating out of bags, we stay away from the computer until we're done. I don't even have to remind Oliver - he saw my reaction to the state of the bunker computer. But it doesn't take long to finish our food, even though I make suggestive faces at him while eating fries. I've been telling Oliver about the progress that Samantha and I have made, and he wants to help. Even if it means sitting patiently and watching me type.

At least we've already had sex once this evening. We're less likely to get distracted by the other's nearness.

I settle down at the computer and review the progress. "ARGUS has five doctors with the skills to implant bombs in someone's brain," I tell Oliver. "I ran a search through their financial records, to see if any of them are up to anything suspicious. And I've had a script combing through their e-mails to see if they have any links to Kasnia."

He nods encouragingly.

"And the results are..." I frown at the screen. "Two with some shady offshore accounts in the Caymans. One with a lot of credit card debt, going back to college. One who appears involved with insider trading involving a drug company... he's in contact with a couple Representatives who are on committees that deal with the FDA, and it looks like he might have had early warnings about the results of drug trials. And one with a gambling addiction, who also may be paying off someone in international organized crime."

Oliver taps his fingers, counting them off. "Isn't that all of them?"

"Yep." I glare at the screen. "What good are serious hacking skills when every single person on this list could be compromised?"

"Did Amanda Waller know any of these doctors?" Oliver asks. "She ordered the original bombs, the ones implanted in Deadshot and Bronze Tiger and the others."

"She didn't put anything in the official records," I remind him. "That's why Lyla needed my help in the first place. Waller didn't tell anyone what she was doing. Not officially or on the record, at least."

"That's not what I meant," Oliver says. "She came out of the same Lazarus Pit that you did. You've got her memories."

"But I told you, I don't remember very much from her." I look back at the computer and sigh.

"But you remember more that you think," Oliver moves his chair so he can see my face, even when I'm looking at the screen. "You remember Samantha's chemistry class. You remember Talia's knife-throwing technique, and someone's experience disarming guns."

"But those were triggered by doing something," I argue. "I couldn't just try to remember, say, everything Samantha learned in chemistry."

"Maybe you could do something to let the memories come out," Oliver suggests. "Do you have photos of the doctors, or anything?"

I give him a look.

He winces. "Sorry. Of course you can get them, if you don't already have them."

I'm already typing, searching for faces that go with the names. I pull up the photos and expand the windows, until they fill most of the screen.

I look at them and frown. "I don't remember anything."

"It seems like the memories are in your subconscious," Oliver says.

I give him a suspicious look. "You're totally going to make me try meditating, aren't you."

He raises his hands in surrender. "Maybe doing yoga will have the same effect," he suggests. "I'll just stay out of the way. But if you need me..."

"I'll try yoga first." Fortunately, I bought comfortable clothes when I went shopping. Meghan Jones does not wear pencil skirts and skin-tight dresses. Partly because she has a post-pregnancy body, true. But partly because yoga is a big part of her - my - routine. And I never know when I'm going to need to spend some quality time with downward-facing dog - or my inner tree pose - to get my head in order.

It doesn't work. Of course it doesn't work. Yoga makes me remember that I'm Felicity. Hacker, daughter, fan of mint chip ice cream. I use yoga to get all the other people out of my head. But I'm trying to let Amanda Waller, at least, into the conscious part of my brain.

"Fine," I tell Oliver as I stand up. He's been watching. My ass has been very close to his face. To his credit, he has behaved himself. "Get your scented candles."

"How did you know they were scented?" he asks.

"I knocked one off of the back of your toilet," I remind him. "My hands smelled like Sunset Breeze for the rest of the day."

He comes back with a couple choices. I reject the Fluffy Towels; that's just going to remind me of Bali. And Tuscan Vineyard... nope. And Midsummer's Night...

I give Oliver a stern look. "What exactly do you do with these candles?"

He blushes.

Good grief. I am married - or whatever our relationship is right now - to a hopeless romantic who probably spent two years masturbating in the shower to the scents of his memories. I shake my head and look at the other choices.

"How about Balsam & Cedar?" I finally decide. That's got to be a generic calming candle scent. And maybe Amanda Waller used scented candles like this. Though if Oliver wants to trigger Waller's memories, he probably needs a candle than smells like Gunpowder and Screaming.

Oliver lights the candle. "Look at one of the photos," he says. "Just one."

I look at it, then nod. Oliver turns out the bedroom light and gestures for me to sit across from him.

He settles onto the floor, crossing his legs. I follow his lead.

"Breathe," he says. "Let everything go, except that one picture."

I breathe. In. Out. Let go of Felicity. It's ok. I'll find her again.

Breathe.

Let go of Samantha. Let go of Isabel and Talia.

Breathe.

I hold the face in my mind.

Breathe.

_He walked into a room. I sat at a desk and looked at him calmly. He stayed standing and started to sweat. "Director Waller," he began._

_"I have a job for you," I said._

"I know him!" I shout.

Oliver blinks.

"Amanda asked him to do something for her." I frown. "Related to... a Senator..."

It's gone.

I sigh, and try again. He knew about the medical and psychological side-effects of torture. And Waller gave him a mission. But she didn't ask him to put bombs in anyone's spine.

We work our way through the rest of them. Waller knew every one of them. They all had things to hide, and all did things for her. But only two of them were involved with the bombs. And of those two, one reported about work in Kasnia.

"Bingo." I look at Oliver. "That's it. We found him. I can trace his other contacts... and we're done."

I get to my feet and head for the computer. But my head is aching, and I stumble before I get there. 

Oliver is there to catch me. "Easy," he cautions. "That was a lot of work you just did."

I look at the computer screen. The text swims in front of my eyes. I look at the keyboard, and I'm not sure what to do.

"It's ok," Oliver reassures me. He helps me into a chair and kneels in front of me. "What can I do to help?"

"I... don't know." I frown at him.

He reaches for one of my feet and starts to massage it. My shoes are already off. I'm not sure where they are - I was wearing stiletto heels, I'm sure, when the doctor came into the office. I never take off my heels in the office.

"It's ok," he says. "Felicity, do you remember when you used to come home from Palmer Tech, and your feet were tired from standing in heels in the front of a meeting room? You would sit down on the couch, and I would take off your shoes, one at a time, and do this." He rubs the ball of my foot with his thumbs, then works his way to my arch, and then up to my Achilles tendon and the bottom of my calf.

I wiggle my toes.

He smiles up at me and switches feet.

"You would wrap the afghan around my shoulders and bring me a glass of wine," I remember. "And then you would rub my feet, and ask me about my day."

"I can get the afghan if you want," he offers. "Or some wine."

"I'll just sit here," I tell him.

And I do. Until he has worked his way to my knees, and then up my thighs, and I wrap my legs around him.

"Want to try the bed thing again?" I suggest.

This time he pushes himself to his feet and lifts me in one motion. But then he sets me down. "I don't want to trip over the candle," he confesses.

I lean down and pick it up, keeping my balance this time.

"Better?" he asks.

"Yes," I tell him. And then I yawn.

He grins at me. "That's a different hint about going to bed."

I stretch, then reach over and pull up his shirt.

"Okay," he says. "That's the same hint again." He pulls his shirt off, watching my eyes until he has to pull the fabric over them.

We undress slowly, not touching or kissing until we're naked under the covers. The condoms are in a drawer within easy reach, and the sex is sleepy and comfortable. I fall asleep with his face nuzzled against the back of my neck and his arm cradling me close.

***

I am warm, despite being entirely naked. Probably because I have an Oliver draped around me. He is still asleep, breathing softly onto my back. His scruff rubs against my shoulder as I roll over to look at him.

He opens one eye, sees me, and smiles. "How are you doing this morning?"

"I had a very relaxing foot rub last night," I tell him. "And some very cuddly sex."

"That's good." He lifts the hand that was draped over me and traces my hair line around my ear. "I shouldn't have suggested that you try meditation. I was worried about you."

I frown slightly.

"You might not have realized it," he says, "but there was a moment when your voice sounded a lot like Amanda Waller. It's more than just something in your subconscious, isn't it?"

I nod.

He slides his finger along my ear, where it used to be pierced. "Talia taught me to divide myself into different people," he tells me. "But they were just parts of me. My experiences. My choices. My mistakes." He combs his fingers through my hair. "I can't imagine what it's like to live with the experiences of all of those other people."

"Well, I've made a point of blocking out Isabel Rochev," I joke.

Oliver winces.

"That's not what I mean," I backtrack. "It's not about her sleeping with you. She spent more than ten years being angry - that much hate is hard to take." I look at him. "I know they're all there, Isabel and Talia and Amanda. And Samantha, which can be especially weird because she's also my friend." I shake my head. "But I know who they are, and who I am. They're in my head, but they aren't me."

He nods. "But the meditation is probably a bad idea."

"I don't know," I muse. "I learned a lot - things that I would never have figured out on my own." I reach out my own hand and trace the edge of his beard. "And I came back... with help."

He looks at me. I've seen that look before. Open. Hopeful.

"A couple years ago - before I cut my hair and became Meghan Jones - you told me that you knew who I was. But it's more than that..." I trace the dimple beside his lips. "You help _me_ remember who I am."

I touch his lips, and he kisses my finger.

We're still naked.

He's trying not to press his cock against my leg, but I can still feel it, more erect every time I brush it when I shift positions. I reach down and grasp it. He sucks in a breath, and I grin at him.

He blinks. "Talking is good," he says. "We can keep talking. You don't have to..."

I glance at the clock on the other side of the room. "Do you need to get to work?"

"Nobody expects me until nine," he reassures me. "And I don't have an afternoon job scheduled yet."

So we have another quick round of sex. Yes, we're doing this a lot. But it's been two years. We need it.

***

Oliver comes out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, water still beading on his pecs. I whistle at him as he goes into the bedroom to get dressed, but he just grins at me, and I go back to my granola and tea.

A few moments later, he comes out and makes himself some coffee. "What are your plans for this morning?" he asks.

"I'm going to trace the contacts for our Kasnian connection. On the computer. Using code. No tapping into memories. Just the usual things that Felicity Smoak has been doing since forever." I try to be reassuring.

He nods. "I'll be back at lunch time," he says. "Please..." 

"I'll text you if anything comes up," I promise. "If I get phone calls, or any other kind of message. And I'll tell Nyssa what I'm doing, too. Even the part about sitting at the computer, in case someone figures out where I live and comes to visit. Not that anyone would know to look here." 

Oliver suddenly looks worried. "That photo I showed you yesterday... the Markovian connection..."

"I won't answer calls from him, either," I promise. "You had a point. Yes, I'll tell Nyssa, because a badass former Assassin is a great ally. But I'll tell you, too. Because I love you, and I don't want you to worry."

He smiles at the _I love you_ , but isn't distracted by it. "That's not what I mean," he says. "There were other pictures with it, that I didn't finish telling you about." He grabs the leather case that he uses for his paperwork, pulls out a folder, and hands it to me.

I flip through the photos. "Someone's been stalking us," I say.

"Paparazzi," Oliver confirms. "This was the work of one of them, someone who sells photos to Susan Williams. She gave these to me."

I raise my eyebrows at that.

"She came by my office - first time I've seen her in years - because she thought I might want these." He gives me a serious look. "She knows it's you. And worse, she's heard other rumors, from covering the Palmer Tech board, that other people think you're alive."

I nod slowly. "And if people know I'm alive, and that we've been seen together..."

"They might know to look for you here," Oliver finishes.

"I'll set up facial recognition on local traffic cameras. For the Markovian agent, at least. And I'll tell Nyssa what's going on."

"Roy and Thea will want to know, too," Oliver suggests. "And maybe Dinah. Not for the police, officially. But she wants early warnings when there's likely to be trouble."

"I'll contact all of them." I stand and pull his face down for a kiss. "And I'll see you at lunch. I'll be ok."

"I hope so," Oliver says. He picks up his things and heads out the door.


	14. Oliver

It takes extra focus for Oliver to build the cabinets Thursday morning. It's a simple job - shelving in a re-designed home office, built to accommodate changing computer technology. How high should the work space be. How much space is needed for the screens, and where do the cables need to go. Oliver hears Felicity's comments about the aging bunker tech in his head at every step, as he talks to the clients and sketches out his ideas.

By the time lunch rolls around, he's been ready to leave for an hour. But the clients like his work, and thank him, and say they would be happy to meet with him on Monday to see the final design and sign off on the plans.

So it went well. It did. But Oliver is still worried as he navigates across the city in his Porsche. Felicity checked in at 11:30, as they had planned, and everything was fine.

But he has seen enough things go sideways, as John would say, that he isn't ready to settle down until he is in his apartment, listening to Felicity grumble about ergonomics while she works through the latest problem that he can't possibly understand.

Parking the car takes longer than reasonable. So does climbing the stairs (which may not actually be faster than the elevator, but which doesn't involve waiting). But finally, Oliver is at his door.

"Hey," Felicity calls from the bedroom. "Saw you come into the parking garage. How was the morning?"

Oliver puts down his leather case, and walks calmly - or at least he's convinced it's almost calmly - into the bedroom.

"Hey." He kisses her on the head, for no reason other than it is Felicity's head, and she's here, in his bedroom, and he hasn't seen her in three whole hours.

"That's nice." But she frowns at him. "Is everything ok?"

"Fine," he says. "Fine. I worked on a design for a home office." He pauses. "Wish you had been there. Lots of talk about planning for the future of tech work."

"Could have been interesting." Felicity shrugs. "Probably someone who thinks the future of tech is to be _disruptive_ without making anything better."

"Is that your dream?" Oliver realizes that he's actually never heard Felicity talk about what she wants to do with her life. Sure, she talked about plans for the computer space back in the bunker, years ago. And she had ideas for what she wanted to do with the baby's room. But she never talked about her dreams for her own life. Not even while they were planning for the baby. "You want to make things better?"

"Of course." She gives him a confused look. "You mean you were never listening in Bali, or on the Amalfi Coast?"

Oliver gives a guilty shrug. "No?"

"That's why I wanted to come back to Star City," she reminds him. "Because I wasn't making a difference as an absentee CEO. Or at least, it wasn't as satisfying as helping the Arrow."

"They fired you from Palmer Tech because you wanted to help people, rather than make a profit," Oliver remembers.

Felicity sighs. "They were assholes. And probably right about corporate America not having room for idealists and do-gooders. I don't know."

"Is that why you decided to work for ARGUS?" Oliver asks.

"I went to work for ARGUS because Lyla Michaels is the absolute bomb, and she asked me." Felicity frowns at the screen. "Not the LITERAL absolute bomb, because unlike Amanda Waller, she doesn't make people's heads explode."

"So you found more info this morning?" Oliver asks.

Felicity nods. "Our doctor friend has a secret account that supports his gambling addiction." She pulls up a screen with a flourish. "The funds in that account come from several sources. You might recognize this one." She points to the screen.

"The Bratva," Oliver shakes his head. "When you said _international organized crime_ , I should have guessed."

"I'm not sure what he does for the Bratva, exactly," Felicity says. "But it looks like it's probably just falsifying autopsy reports."

" _Just_ ," Oliver comments.

"Well, in the grand scheme of things, it's not such a big deal." Felicity opens another window. "Compared, say, to doing surgery on agents for future international terrorism. Paid by two different US Senators and an acting National Security Advisor."

"And those Senators have connections to Kasnia?" Oliver guesses.

"They're trying to prop the bitcoin market - which is a totally losing proposition, even if bitcoin mining didn't contribute to climate change - because they're funding their re-election campaigns with it." Felicity rolls her eyes. "Seriously, they should just rely on the NRA, coal executives, and the Russians, like everyone else."

Oliver nods. "So now...?"

"I don't know," Felicity admits. "I mean, they've used ARGUS for things in the past. And they want me to find Amanda Waller for them. But I don't know what they want from her. Or whether they were the ones who let her out."

Oliver frowns. "If they let her out, wouldn't they know where she is?"

"Hmmmm..." Felicity gives an over-dramatic flourish. "Unless they let her out, and someone else did something to her."

Oliver shakes his head. "I don't understand."

"Well, we don't know what the Markovians are up to," Felicity points out. "Or why they want to hire me, too."

"Right." After the evening following up on Marvin Miller's exploding head, Oliver had forgotten about the competition. "What about the Markovians?" 

Felicity sighs. "I don't have any good leads on them," she admits. "At least they didn't kill their messenger. That's a good sign. Right?"

"But not a lead," Oliver finishes.

"I have an idea." Felicity hesitates. "You're not going to like this."

There are a lot of things that Oliver probably wouldn't like. He isn't sure which category this might fall into.

"I think I should try to find more information in Amanda Waller's memories." Felicity gives a very cute, not-at-all-Amanda-Waller-like look.

Oliver frowns. "Last time you had a short list of people to try to remember," he says. "You used photos of their faces. How are you going to narrow down the Markovian connections?"

Felicity wrinkles her nose. "I don't know if this is going to work or not," she says. "But I found some Markovian language lessons. Maybe if I listen to the words, that would trigger something?"

Oliver is skeptical - he remembers learning Chinese, and Russian, and knows that his subconscious connects them with laundry and vomiting up vodka. But maybe Waller learned her languages in more productive ways.

They eat a subdued lunch before they start. Not a lot of food - just some bread and cheese and slices of apple. Then they pick up the plates and do the dishes. And then they're ready to get another candle and some pillows, darken the light, and put on some Markovian language lessons.

Felicity mouths the words along with the recording. But she doesn't remember anything.

They try for several hours. Take a break for Oliver to cook. Eat, without wine this time. Go back into the bedroom and try again.

Nothing.

Finally, they fall into bed, have sex, and sleep.

The next day follows the same pattern. Oliver spends the morning helping to frame a new duplex, and comes home at lunch. Felicity finds some new ways to prompt memories of Markovians. They meditate. Eat a snack. Check phones for messages. Try again.

It's already evening when Felicity sits back and sighs. "This isn't working," she admits. "I just don't have enough to go on." She gets to her feet and heads for the kitchen. Oliver hears her fill the tea kettle and put it on the stove. He gets up, stretches his own legs, and picks up the candle.

Felicity's phone buzzes. Actually, it's not Felicity's phone. It's a burner phone, left beside the computer. Oliver glances at its screen.

 _It has been four days_ , the text says. _Our offer will expire soon_.

Oliver frowns. "Felicity," he calls. "You should see this."

She comes back into the room carrying a cup of tea, reads the text, and frowns.

"What do they mean, _'expire soon'_?" Oliver asks. "Did they give you a deadline?"

"Not specifically." She sits at the computer and types. "That text came from a phone in Star City. Still a burner phone - no record of who owns it."

"Do you think it's the same people you met with?" Oliver asks.

"No," Felicity says. "This is the phone that called the Kasnians."

"They've got someone else in Star City," Oliver notes. "Someone beside Marvin Miller."

And that's the moment when they hear the knock on the door.

***

Oliver looks at Felicity. She types a few things on her computer.

"William's at Samantha's place," she confirms. "Thea and Roy are at the bunker. Nyssa is picking up pizza. Again. William really likes pizza." She types a few more things. "Dinah is... I think she might be on a date." She looks at Oliver. "That isn't one of our friends at the door."

"How about our cameras?" Oliver asks. "What do they show?"

"Nothing in the garage." Felicity frowns at the screen. "In the stairs... I see someone, but I can't see the face."

Oliver nods grimly and heads for the door. He leans down and looks through the peephole, then glances back at the bedroom. Felicity pulls her gun out of her bag, then moves to a concealed position. Oliver makes sure he isn't blocking her shot, then opens the apartment door.

The figure outside isn't much taller than Felicity. The visitor looks into the room and lowers the hood that obscures his face.

No. Her face.

"Mr. Queen," Amanda Waller says. "I need your help."

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver sees Felicity aim her gun.

"And tell your wife to lower her weapon," Waller says. "I want to talk to both of you. About the people who are trying to hire Ms. Smoak, so they can kill me."

Oliver nods his head slightly, and sees Felicity lower her gun a fraction of an inch. "Why should we trust you?" he asks.

"You should be asking why I think _I_ can trust _you_ ," Waller replies.

Felicity steps out of the bedroom, still holding the gun. "Why?" she asks.

"Because you haven't even tried to help them to find me," Waller says. "And because they're going to come after you next."

Oliver and Felicity share a quick glance. _Our offer will expire soon_.

"How do you know?" Felicity asks.

"Are you letting me into your apartment?" Waller asks. "Because this is not a conversation to have in a hallway."

Oliver looks at Felicity. She nods. Oliver steps aside, lets Amanda Waller into the apartment, and shuts the door.

"You spent two years searching for answers, Ms. Smoak," Waller replies. "When Lyla Michaels began following up on your leads, people noticed. And they started searching for her source. You are good, Ms. Smoak, but you aren't perfect."

"And then they let you out," Felicity says. "Because I was getting too close to the truth?"

"You have it backwards," Waller corrects her. "The people who feared the truth were happy when my secrets died with me. _Imprisoned_ wasn't as good as _dead_ to them. But it was better than _free_."

"So how did you escape, then?" Felicity asks.

"There are still some people in ARGUS who worked for me for a very long time," Waller replies.

"For fourteen years?" Oliver guesses. "Or more? People who knew about Lian Yu?"

"People who also worked for Talia al Ghul?" Felicity adds.

"Talia's network was loose, and benefited both of us," Waller says. "But yes. They worked for Talia, as well. Particularly after my death."

"And at least one has tech skills," Felicity surmises. "Enough to track me."

"Enough to hide your body's disappearance from the Star City morgue," Waller says. "Mr. Queen might remember how he was never charged for stealing his wife's dead body while he was on probation. Talia and her collaborators made sure of that."

"If you have friends with those kind of skills, why do you need us?" Oliver asks. "I've known you a long time, Amanda. I don't believe you would come to Star City just to warn Felicity that she's in danger."

"I _had_ friends with those skills," Waller replies. "They were killed. And before they were killed, they were tortured."

Felicity sucks in her breath.

"The last information they sent, two days ago, were these digital photos." She pulls out a phone and hands it to Oliver.

He scrolls through the images. More paparazzi photos, from new angles, of him and Felicity at dinner, at the coffee shop, walking on the street. Of course there had been other photographers, selling photos to other people. Susan had warned him that the story would get out. She had meant to the media. This was worse.

"They know Ms. Smoak is alive. They know she is with you. And they know that she is the person who has been investigating." Waller looks at Felicity. "They have secrets that have been buried for years. They do not want them exhumed."

"That's lovely," Felicity says. "Because I still don't know exactly who is trying to hire me, or what they've done. Despite a lot of hacking. As far as I can tell, there are dozens of people who have done shady things that you probably know about."

" _Dozens_ is a low estimate, Ms. Smoak," Waller replies.

"What do you want us to do, Amanda?" Oliver decides it's time to change the subject. "You said you wanted protection. You said that Felicity is in danger because there are people who think that she knows more than she does. You know who those people are. We don't." He reaches inside himself, looking for the remnants of The Hood, trying to deliver a threat with his voice and the way he shifts his weight. He is not, after all, holding any weapon other than his fists.

"If you tell us who they are, we can get help from Lyla..." Felicity suggests.

"They are at every level in ARGUS." There's a finality to Waller's statement that Oliver recognizes. "Lyla Michaels would be unable to even request a plane without informing them."

"Are they in Star City?" Oliver asks.

"Maybe," Waller says. "My collaborators' bodies were found in Coast City yesterday, according to the national news. They were left in a very public place. As a message."

"Any idea which group killed them?" Felicity asks. "We know that there's a group in Kasnia tied to a couple Senators. They had at least one guy with a bomb in his head. They contacted me through a web site."

"And there's someone working for people in Markovia," Oliver adds. "He met Felicity in person."

"We've got facial recognition programmed to look for him," Felicity says. "If he shows up on traffic cameras in this part of the city, we'll know."

"It could be almost any of them," Waller replies.

"Could you help me sort out the most likely threats?" Felicity asks.

Which is how Felicity and Amanda Waller end up sitting in the bedroom together, sorting through lists of names, and programming facial recognition for the ones who were most likely to do their own dirty work.

Oliver heads for the kitchen. They had been planning to eat leftovers, and although nobody has discussed whether Amanda Waller is going to spend the night on the sofa bed, Oliver thinks it's likely. Which means he needs to find food for three people. He starts making a salad, then puts on water to cook some more pasta to go with the leftover sauce.

His phone buzzes. "Samantha," he says as he answers it. "Hi."

"It's me, Dad," William responds.

Oliver frowns. "Are you using your mother's phone again?" 

"Yeah," William says. "I'm working on a project on mine, and Mom said I should call you."

"What's up?" Oliver looks at the bedroom. It would be better to have Felicity involved if something was wrong, but she's busy with Amanda Waller.

"I've got a driving lesson tomorrow," William reminds him. "Mom wants to know if you're still planning to take me, or if she should do it."

Oliver can hear Amanda Waller telling Felicity something. "If she can take you, that would be great."

"Yeah, Mom's good with it," William says. "And she said that if she had to take me, you would owe me a chance to drive the Porsche next time."

"No, she didn't." Oliver shakes his head.

"Ok," William says. "But you still owe me one."

"And you're keeping track," Oliver finishes. "I know."

"Ok. Bye." William hangs up.

Oliver shakes his head again and adds pasta to the water.


	15. I... Overwatch

Amanda Waller crashes on the sofa bed. Oliver looks in the linen closet and frowns, like he's counting the sheets. I guess we need to do laundry.

We do not have sex. Having sex with Amanda Waller outside the door is scarier than having sex with Oliver's teenaged son nearby. (Also, William has earbuds in all the time. Amanda does not.) But we do sleep. Eventually. With Oliver wrapped around me, visibly worrying about threats from people who torture and kill hackers.

Amanda is already awake and dressed when we emerge. Even on the run, she somehow looks in control and completely put together. Maybe it's a superpower. Maybe she just gets up freaky early and carries a collection of personal care products, plus professional-looking clothes, in her one small bag. Meanwhile, I'm wearing a pair of Oliver's old sweatpants, plus one of his t-shirts, as I pad to the bathroom for my shower. For the past few days, I've been wearing just my underwear, if that, but with a scary houseguest, that seems unwise.

I come out of the shower to find that Oliver has made coffee, and he and Amanda are doing some bizarre reminiscing about another time that Amanda had gone to Oliver for help. Apparently that one didn't end well. I hope things work out better this time.

There's hot water, as well, so I make some tea, then bring it to the table. Having Amanda Waller here is strangely clarifying - she talks about things she remembers, and that helps me put those memories into their correct space.

After Oliver showers, we make plans for the day. Amanda and I will review the facial recognition results, and go through some of the local security camera footage to look for anyone else who might be around. Oliver will go to the laundromat and wash sheets - he does laundry on Saturdays after William leaves, anyway, so that will keep any watchers from being overly suspicious. While he's out, he'll check in with Thea and Roy. Amanda thinks it would be unwise to call them - she claims that Thea's phone has been compromised for at least a year, by someone who sells surveillance tools to high-end criminals. When all of this is done, I'll help Thea come up with some better security. But in the meantime, we'll have to warn our friends the old-fashioned way.

We don't contact Samantha and Nyssa. They already have Assassins patrolling this area, and our news can't possibly make them more watchful. Plus William has driving practice this morning, and Oliver says that Samantha usually does her own errands while she waits for him to finish with his weekend activities.

That leaves Amanda and I to stay here and try to narrow down the threats.

We cycle through the various video feeds. Traffic cameras. The little store that sold us honey. A bank ATM. And of course, the apartment building, though I've already set that up to warn me if strangers come in. Though somehow Amanda Waller got past it. So maybe I should be more worried, I think, and decide to review it with her, too.

No sign of our friend who works for the Markovians. No sign of the other people Amanda flagged as potential threats, including anyone associated with the Kasnians, either. We broaden the search to other cameras in the city, especially the airport and train station. But that's a lot of data, and this computer is over two years old. It will take time to sift through all of it. Which means that we wait. 

Amanda Waller is not an easy person to talk to.

She sits, perfectly still, every muscle in control. I swear that she can even control her blood vessels and intestines and all those other organs that are supposed to have involuntary muscle behavior, at least according to Samantha's memories of taking Anatomy and Physiology. Small talk? That does not seem to be an option here.

But I've got memories of the times she has sat in a meeting, listening to generals lie about their motives during a mission. Moments when she had to make a snap decision, and not look back. Of having her expertise ignored. Of the irregularities that she saw, and the way that she smiled coldly, and did her job.

But those memories start with ARGUS. There is nothing - absolutely nothing - from her childhood, or college, or her first work in government.

Finally, I crack. "How did you meet Talia al Ghul?" I ask. "I mean... I know you knew her before she put you in the Pit, after you were killed."

She gives me an unreadable smile.

"Sorry," I apologize. "I have some of your memories, you know. From the Pit. Which Talia put me in. And which Talia put you in. I know things that I shouldn't know. But..." It takes a moment for me to get up the nerve to ask. "I know you were in China after 9/11. And I know I have memories of you after that. But before that... nothing."

Amanda raises her eyebrows. "People want to kill you because of the things that you know," she says. "And you want to know more?"

I shrug. "Yes," I tell her. "I like to know things. That's part of who I am. I like to figure things out... and when I can't, they just bother me."

"And you will keep asking until you have an answer," Amanda finishes.

"How about if I tell you my guess, and you can say if I'm right or not?" I suggest. "Or tell me if I'm getting warmer or colder?"

Amanda looks at me without responding. 

"Ok, fine," I relent. "That's a stupid idea. Forget I asked."

"You can guess, if you like," Amanda says. "I will not promise to respond." 

It's as good of an invitation as I'm likely to get. "Ok," I say. "Did you come out of a Lazarus Pit?" I stop. "I mean, another one? Before the one in Wyoming?"

Amanda nods. "That is quite a guess," she says. "Yes."

"Someplace isolated? Someplace that hadn't been used before?" I know I'm pressing my luck here.

"It was a new Pit, yes," Amanda confirms. "Talia al Ghul was experimenting with creating them. She told me that I was killed somewhere in Beijing. Everyone else in my group stayed dead. But she found me, and brought me to her new Pit, in the mountains of Xinjiang. And she brought me back."

"So you don't remember anything - I mean, you don't have anyone else's memories - because you were the first?" I'm still trying to piece her story together. "But why don't you remember anything about yourself?"

"I know my history," Amanda says. "Talia told me what she knew. And after she cared for me and returned me to my team in the State Department, they also told me. They assumed that I had memory loss due to brain trauma during the explosion."

"Were you working for her, after you went back to the State Department?" I frown. "How did you end up as the head of ARGUS in such a short time?"

"I had useful skills," Amanda says. "The people in power discovered that I could make things happen. And sometimes I knew of events before they happened."

"Like finding Yao Fei on Lian Yu. Or knowing that Chien Na Wei would be on that flight." I tilt my head. "Or knowing that Oliver Queen was someone to watch out for."

Amanda nods. "Talia didn't tell me much about her plans. But she told me that I would find Oliver... useful."

"And was he useful?" I frown. "Because from what he's told me, and from your memories... it doesn't seem like things worked out all the time."

"Oliver Queen did not become the man you met until he encountered Talia," Amanda confirms.

"Did Talia tell you to do all the things... everything you did with ARGUS _?" Like putting bombs in people's heads_ , I think. But I don't say it out loud. If there's one advantage to having a head full of Talia al Ghul and Isabel Rochev and Amanda Waller, it's an improved brain-to-mouth filter.

"No," Amanda replies. "Those ideas came from other people." She nods at our list. "You can see some of them here."

"And you did what they wanted...?" I frown. "Weren't you, you know, in charge? Like, the person who made the decisions?"

Amanda's smile is not friendly. Or kind. It tells me that she knows things that I can't, not even when her memories are in my head. " _Power_ and _responsibility_ are not always the same thing, Ms. Smoak. Sometimes the choice is to accept the responsibility and do what is asked, or lose what power you have." She watches me without blinking. "Perhaps if you understood that, you would still be a CEO."

Ouch. But I don't agree with her. What's the point of power if you can't use it to do what's right?

I change the subject. "Was Rubicon your decision?" This has been bothering me for a long time. "Did you make the choice to control all of America's nukes with a single launch code?"

"I argued against that," Amanda says. "I was overruled."

I frown at her. "You know there's an entire town that was wiped out because the launch codes were vulnerable." I press my lips together, then open my mouth and say the name. "Havenrock."

"You still feel guilty about that." Amanda watches my reaction. "Yes, I know what you did. My tech friends were impressed by your work. If I had still been alive, I would have recruited you."

 _Like Lyla did_ , I think. I put the thought aside. I'm not ready to deal with that thought right now.

I check each of the windows that are running facial recognition, mostly because I'm not sure what else to say. Still nothing.

My phone buzzes. My personal phone, not one of the burners. I look down at the message.

It's William. The text says _See my location!_ with a link to a web address.

I frown. It's a strange message. Almost like something that has been pre-programmed. I click the link to see what's going on. 

It's a map, with a pulsing red dot moving along the city streets. Nice. All those times that I thought William was gaming... he was actually making some kind of app that would track his phone's location and plot it on a map. It's not anything new - Google does it - but it's still impressive work from a kid who's taking his first Computer Science class. As soon as I see him, I'll need to tell him that.

And then I look at the phone again. The dot has started moving faster. Faster than a car should on those streets.

Something's wrong. I glance at the time. William should be in his driving practice right now.

I type a few commands on my computer, and a series of traffic camera images appear. The car with the big STUDENT DRIVER sign goes past one of them, and I capture the image and enhance it.

"Amanda." I point to the image. "I don't know this man. Do you?"

She blinks. "Yes."

But before she can explain, one of my burner phones buzzes.

 _Find Amanda Waller_ , it says. _Or your stepson dies_.

***

I look at Amanda. She has my gun. And it is pointed at me.

"Don't," she says.

I raise my hands. "I won't give you to them," I tell her. "I promise. Just... let me send one message."

"Thea Queen's phone is compromised," Amanda reminds me. "And the SCPD has never been secure."

"That's true," I agree. "But William's mother is the head of the League of Assassins."

"Her phone would also be monitored," Amanda warns me.

"Yes, but she lives with Nyssa al Ghul. And I've been sharing all of my security upgrades with Nyssa." Because Nyssa is the one who listens to me tell stories about learning to code. And she likes learning new things. Especially things that her father didn't allow. "So I'm just going to forward this text to Nyssa." I point to my phone. "And I've got a code word to tell her that there's danger, and she should look into it."

Amanda nods her permission, but she doesn't lower the gun.

I send the message. "Now. I'm going to create a new identity for you," I tell her. "I'm going to replace your face in every record that exists. It will take a while to propagate, and it won't keep people who knew you from recognizing you. But if I do this right, you should be able to travel - wherever you want - and start a new life."

Amanda narrows her eyes. "That is excessively trusting, Ms. Smoak."

I shrug. "You told me your story," I remind her. "And it agrees with your memories. The ones that are stuck in my head. And besides..." I watch for her reactions. "You've been manipulated enough. By Talia. Twice. By everyone in ARGUS." I wave my raised hands to try to emphasize how much I understand. "Look. Someone told me that in order to recover from coming out of the Pit, I needed to figure out who I was. And I don't think anyone has ever given you that opportunity."

Amanda shakes her head. "Empathy is a weakness," she tells me.

"You take advantage of people's weaknesses," I reply. "I don't know if that's something you always did, or if Talia taught you that, or if you learned that to survive in ARGUS. But this time, take advantage of mine." I frown. "But also give me back my gun. Please."

"Create my new identity first." Ok. So Amanda isn't going to magically start trusting people. Fair enough.

I start typing. New name. New passport number. Driver's license. Known traveler number, so she can fly with less scrutiny. I take several photos with my phone, transfer them to my computer, and edit the backgrounds so they look like they come from the DMV, the passport office, and various other places that take bad photos. I have to dig out the printer, find paper stored in the closet, and search for the old laminator that Oliver and I used to use. But eventually, Amanda Waller - or another name that I swear to immediately forget - has new paperwork. And I've automated a process that will replace her image on any files used by agencies who might search for her. She should be able to go through the Star City airport, at least, without incident. 

When everything is ready, she hands my gun back to me and tells me the name, and history, of the man in the car with William. But before she walks out the door, she turns back. 

"You wanted answers," she says. "And now you have a lot of information that could get you killed. What are you planning to do with it?"

I haven't fully thought it through, but I try to answer. "I think... I will try to clean it up."

Amanda looks skeptical. "All of it?" 

"All of it," I say. "I know it will take a long time. I know it will be dangerous." I shrug. "But that's kind of the family business. Or at least, the family that I married into. I'll figure it out."

Amanda nods. "Thank you for letting me live," she says. "Good luck."

And with that, Amanda Waller disappears. From Oliver's apartment, from government records... from everything. I hope the person who replaces her doesn't turn out totally evil. 

I go back to my computer, pick up my phone, and call Nyssa.

"Why is William driving around the city at 50 miles per hour?" Nyssa asks. "I called the SCPD, and Dinah's watching him and closing roads. But we don't know why."

I type a few more things. "The man in the passenger seat works for the same people as the exploding-head guy," I tell her. "And I got a threat from them. A threat to kill William."

"That doesn't explain why William is driving so fast," Nyssa says.

"The driving instructor is also an explosives expert," I tell her. "So I'm guessing that there's a bomb involved."

I'm interrupted by the sound of the apartment door opening. 

"Hold on," I tell Nyssa, and pick up my gun.

Oliver and Thea walk in, carrying carrying two duffel bags.

"Dinah called and said there was a traffic incident with William," Thea says. "And we didn't know what to do without tech support. And Ollie says I'm not supposed to use my phone. So we're here."

"William's driving around the city at high speed in the driver training car," I tell them. "His instructor is a bomb expert who works with the Kasnians. I got a threat to that they're going to kill William."

Oliver looks around the apartment. "Gone?" he asks. He reads the situation well and doesn't say Amanda's name.

I nod. 

"William's driving fast, with a bomb expert, and they're threatening to kill him." Thea is too focused on the immediate problem to be distracted by an oblique conversation between Oliver and me. "We need to disarm the bomb without the car slowing down."

"You need to put your phone on speaker," Nyssa says. "I believe I missed something." 

But I know the source of Thea's logic. I tap a few keys, and immediately find the driving instructor's video streaming history.

"He watched _Speed_ last week," I tell Thea. "You've got it."

"What else was involved with the threat?" Oliver walks over to my desk, reads the message on the burner phone, and nods. "There's someone else involved. Otherwise they wouldn't know if their demands were met." 

"Right." I wish that I had gotten to that conclusion faster. But I've got the skills to solve that problem. I type some more commands. "William created a program that records his phone's GPS and sends it to this website," I tell them. "I'm searching the local cell towers for any other communications with the same coordinates. And... there."

Thea frowns at the screen. "I have no idea what that means."

"It's the identity of another phone on the cellular network. A phone that's communicating with someone in that car." I look at them. "Or something in that car." 

Oliver is already pulling a bow out of his duffel bag and strapping on his quiver. "Where?" 

He didn't ask if I could figure out where. And I think I love him for it.

I type a few more commands. "Ah. Of course. So THIS one is set up in an abandoned warehouse." I glance at Thea and Oliver's confused looks. "The Markovian representative met me in a coffee shop. It was weird. But this is more normal." I pull up the map. "Here."

"Got it," Oliver says.

Thea digs into her bag. "You'll need these." She pulls out a pair of earpieces. 

I put one in. "You haven't upgraded these in two years?"

Thea shrugs. "No tech support these days. Just muscle and bows. And sometimes Dinah's scream. Speaking of which, she said to let her know if we needed her as the Canary rather than the police chief."

"She's probably our best bet to disarm a moving bomb," I say. "Loop her in."

Oliver looks at Thea. "Do you need to change?"

She shakes her head. "It would take too long," she says. "Besides, our secret identities are just polite fictions these days, anyways."

"Where's Roy?" I ask.

"He was at City Hall," Thea says. "He's with the SCPD. And he's got an earpiece in, too."

"Give me the coordinates," Nyssa says over the phone. "I will send Assassins to help you."

"We'll see them there," Oliver says. He heads for the door, then turns around and kisses me. "Stay safe," he says.

"You two are cute," Thea says as she follows him out the door.

I settle into my chair - I really need to replace it with something that has wheels - and open a few more windows.

Overwatch is back.


	16. Oliver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes references to the movie "Speed."
> 
> Inspiration for that aspect of the plot came from a fic that I read a long time ago, which re-wrote Speed with Oliver and Felicity. I don't remember who wrote it and I don't have a link (and I haven't read any Olicity fics since mid-season 5; I would not enjoy searching for it). But I remember that it was well-written.

Oliver and Thea fly through the streets on their motorcycles. Leaving the Porsche in the bunker was a wise decision; some of the streets are closed by the police, who are trying to keep traffic away from William. It isn't clear how William knows where to turn as he speeds around the city - Dinah just says that she and Roy figured something out. And Oliver simply has to trust them.

Through his earpiece, Oliver can hear Felicity explaining the situation to Roy.

 _...and we think William has to stay above a certain speed or the car will explode,_ Felicity ends.

 _He'll be ok_ , Roy reassures everyone. _Even the cops were impressed by the way he took that last turn._

That is not very comforting. But Oliver roars through another light, and he and Thea are at the warehouse already. The situation is Oliver's to deal with... or to mess up.

He tries not to focus on that last thought. Action. Control. He can do this. "Overwatch, where's the target?"

 _The cell signal is coming from the northwest corner_ , Felicity answers. _Second floor, where the old offices are. There should be a fire escape that leads to the window._

Thea is already leaping to grab the bottom of the fire escape and pull herself up. Oliver follows. The metal is cold under his hand, and he struggles for a moment with his grip.

"You got that?" Thea whispers.

"I'm fine," Oliver grumbles. "My hand just slipped."

 _Everything ok?_ Felicity asks.

"Yeah," Thea replies. "Just looking in the window now."

Nobody is there.

"Are you sure this is the place, Overwatch?" Thea asks.

 _Yes, that's where the signal is coming from_ , Felicity answers. _Let me pull up some satellite imagery -_  There is a clatter of a keyboard as she pauses. _There's a heat signature somewhere in there,_ she says. _But it isn't very distinct. You're in a big pile of concrete and steel._

"Right. We'll just have to go in and check it out, then." Thea smashes her bow against the window.

Oliver follows her in. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when they do, he sees that the room isn't very big. There's a desk, and some old filing cabinets. A metal garbage can. A window, and a door. But it's even smaller than the office that Oliver rents. 

"We should check for booby-traps," Thea warns him.

"I was going to," Oliver murmurs. Though he had actually forgotten about that possibility.

"There's a blinky light in the corner," Thea says.

 _A bomb?_ Felicity's voice is all business.

"I don't know." Oliver might be more worried than she is. He picks up his phone, takes a photo, and texts it to her.

 _That's not a bomb_ , Felicity says. _That's good news. Or ok news. It's a cellular router. Our friend has a computer - or a tablet, or a phone - and the signal is going to the cellular network here._

"So where could our friend be?" Thea asks.

 _Not too far away,_ Felicity says. _Like I said, it's a b_ _ig pile of concrete and steel. Not great for wi-fi. Our friend should be close to_ _line-of-sight of the router._  

Thea swears and looks around again.

Oliver is closer to the door. He moves to its side, making sure that he won't be visible to anyone outside. Thea slips into a position opposite him, so she can see targets that he can't. She nods to Oliver, and Oliver ducks quickly through the door.

"There's nobody in the hall," Oliver says. "But I see another blinking light."

 _That's what I was worried about,_ Felicity says. _Repeaters. Who knows how big the network is._

"Remember how to clear a building?" Thea teases. Or at least, Oliver hopes that she's teasing.

But Oliver does remember. He works his way down the hallway, kicking open doors and confirming that the rooms are empty. Thea does the same, but on the other side. They find two more repeaters, but no people.

"Overwatch, this floor is clear," Oliver says. "We're checking downstairs."

 _Ok._ Felicity sounds distracted.

"What's wrong?" Oliver asks.

 _William missed a turn,_ she says. _The SCPD told him to turn... but he went straight._

 _He'll be ok,_ Roy says.

 _The streets are pretty narrow in that part of the city,_ Dinah cautions. _He'll need to be careful around those corners._

 _He'll be ok,_ Roy repeats. _We'd better move. We need to be near him if Dinah's going to disarm the bomb._

Something moves at the far end of the hall. Oliver and Thea raise their bows in tandem, but lower them when they see the silhouette of a hood and sword. An Assassin. At least there's backup here.

"I'll go talk to her," Thea says. "Samantha really needs to get modern communication for her people."

 _They use cell phones,_ Felicity comments. _And they keep their security software up to date, too._

"Like I said, going to go talk to them now, Overwatch," Thea responds.

"I'll check downstairs," Oliver offers.

Thea looks skeptically at him.

"I'll be fine," Oliver assures her, heading for the stairs.

He runs down them, but pauses at every turn to make sure he doesn't run into any surprises. And then, in the shadows in a corner, he sees more blinking lights. But this time, there's a shadow partially blocking them.

Oliver raises his bow and nocks an arrow. "Found our friend," he whispers.

 _Wait,_ Roy says. _Dinah and I are trying to intersect the car. We need to get into position before he sees..._

"Is Amanda Waller behind you?" The figure stands. The lights disappear behind him. "Because you clearly aren't her."

"Just a messenger," Oliver says. "Wasn't sure where to deliver the package." 

"I don't normally take deliveries," the stranger says. He moves back towards the computer. "And I'm wearing a dead man's switch. So you probably want to drop that bow."

Oliver doesn't drop the bow, but he lowers it. "What do you have against Amanda Waller?" Keep the man talking. Roy and Dinah aren't in position yet, anyway.

"I want to stay alive," the man says. "I'm wearing a mic. If I talk too much, my head explodes. You punch me, my head explodes. And if my head explodes..."

"...the car explodes. Right. The car with the kid." Oliver nods. "But if Amanda Waller arrives... or if you have information about where she is..."

"... the car doesn't explode." The man nods. "You get it. Good."

"Well, not entirely." Oliver shrugs. "I don't quite understand... why are you making the kid drive fast?"

"You should watch _Speed_ ," the man says. "Keanu Reeves, Sandra Bullock, and a city bus. If they slowed down, the bus would explode." He chuckles. "I just like that movie. Seemed like a good way to get the threat across."

"So if you get what you want - information about Amanda Waller, I get it - how do you keep the car from exploding?" Oliver frowns. "I'm not very technical. I failed chemistry. Twice."

"I've got an override." The man points to a black box with a red button. A small red button. "So when you give me my information..."

"You push the button, and the bomb is shut down." Oliver nods. "But if I ask too many questions, or punch you... your head explodes."

"And the car explodes, too." The man pauses, listening to something. "My handlers aren't happy," he says. "They say you're stalling."

Oliver is most definitely stalling. There's got to be something he can say that won't set off the listeners. If only Roy would check in...

 _We're here_ , Roy says, as if summoned. _Dinah's ready. The car's three blocks away._

"I _was_ stalling," Oliver says. "But now I'm not." He raises his bow again.

"Oh, this is a very bad idea." The man picks up the black box and holds it up, so the button is right beside his neck. "You can't hit this." 

"You don't know who I am," Oliver says. 

"Oliver Queen," the man says. "That kid's father. Former Green Arrow." He raises his eyebrows. "Rumor has it that you haven't shot a bow in two years."

"Rumors are wrong," Oliver says, and pulls back the bowstring.

 _Ollie, I'm almost there_ , Thea says. _I can take the shot if you need me too._

 _Don't miss_. Roy is probably trying to be helpful and encouraging.

Felicity stays silent.

Oliver takes a breath, pictures the arrow hitting the tiny red button, and releases the string.

Over the comms, he hears the muted sound of Dinah's cry.

The black box drops to the ground, an arrow embedded in the button.

 _Tell him that Amanda Waller is in Coast City_ , Felicity says over the comms. _It's not true. But it might keep him alive until the Assassins can get to him and do some field surgery_.

"Coast City," Oliver says. "Amanda Waller is in Coast City."

The man breathes. "You heard that, right?" He listens to his unseen bosses. "Good."

 _You need to find out if his handlers will keep listening, even if he's unconscious. Ask if he gets to take a shower alone, or something,_ Felicity suggests.

"So how does it work, having people listening to you all the time?" Oliver tries to look friendly and curious. "Do you get to shower alone, or do they listen in then, too?"

The man pauses. "They're gone now," he says. "Probably busy, sending someone to Coast City."

As if on cue, an Assassin appears out of the shadows behind Oliver and fires a tranquilizer dart. The man collapses. The Assassin rushes forward and picks him up.

"There's a desk upstairs," she says. "The others are better at surgery. They're prepping right now."

 _And there's the advantage to turning the League of Assassins into Badass Surgeons Without Borders_ , Felicity says in Oliver's ear.

Oliver thanks the Assassin, then walks away where he can talk in private. Or in as much privacy as possible with all of his friends listening in on the comms. 

"How's William?" he asks. 

 _The car stopped_ , Felicity says. _No explosion_.

 _He's fine_ , Roy says. _Dinah's booking the driver's ed teacher_. He pauses. _William says that he knew that teacher sucked, and you wouldn't listen to him_.

Oliver chuckles. "Tell William that I'd be happy to get an I-told-you-so in person."

Roy repeats Oliver's exact words, then pauses. _Sorry, kid_ , he says. _If you want to bring that up with your father, that's up to you. But don't ask me to do it_.

"NO," Oliver growls. "I don't care how well he did with driving fast under pressure. He can't drive the Porsche."

Thea comes down behind Oliver and coughs. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." Oliver glares at her. "Just... let me have this, ok? This is what a father is supposed to do. William has one cool aunt, two cool stepmothers, and Roy. I have to be someone else."

Roy says something indistinguishable, and then his voice ends.

 _And... Arsenal has signed off_ , Felicity says.

"We'll see him soon." Oliver sets down his bow so he can re-tie one of his boots. It will be good to go home, take these off, settle in for an afternoon with his family... 

"We need to go to the police station." Thea sounds apologetic. "I know that sounds totally wrong after a mission, but Dinah can't leave, and William will be there..."

"Fine," Oliver agrees. "The police station it is."

 _I'll be there with bells on_ , Felicity says. _Well, not literally bells. Because that's not my style. Not that there's anything wrong with bells. They just aren't my thing_.

"I love you," Oliver says. And he doesn't care who hears it. Everyone on the comms knows it, and they can just deal with hearing it every once in a while.


	17. Epilogue: My Name Is...

I'm the last one to arrive at the police station. Oliver and Thea had their motorcycles, and then picked up the Porsche at the bunker. Dinah and Roy and William rode in a police car. (The driver's ed instructor rode in a different one. One that came with full Miranda rights, plus handcuffs.) But me? I had to take a Lyft. Which was faster than the combination of city bus and taxi, but not as fast as the motorcycles plus the Porsche.

Oliver and William are already deep in conversation when I arrive. Thea and Roy corner me and give me hugs, one after another.

"Welcome back," Thea says. "How did it feel?"

"Like riding a bike," I admit. "Though... I crashed my first bike, and I'm a little scared of them. I don't even know how people ride motorcycles. Or mountain bikes."

"So you were scared of crashing. But you didn't." Roy sums it up.

I give Roy a suspicious look. "So how did William know how to drive like that? He took some really tight corners at over 50 miles per hour. That did not look like a beginning driver."

Roy grins. "Being an uncle is a big responsibility," he says. "And I am enjoying every minute of it."

"But neither of them - not Roy, and definitely not William - has ever driven the Porsche," Thea interjects. "Make sure that Oliver knows that."

"I will," I promise. "But Oliver just might owe Roy a little drive..."

"You're the only one who will ever convince him of that," Roy says.

"I don't know," I tell him. "We don't have that kind of relationship any more."

Thea looks past me. "I suspect that you have pretty much any kind of relationship that you want."

We're interrupted by the arrival of Samantha. The way she bursts through the door and heads straight for William, you would never know that she has presumably been talking several Assassin-Surgeons through the removal of a spinal explosive.

Oliver lets her have some time with William, and comes over to join us.

"I didn't miss," he says. He's looking at Thea, who raises her eyebrows.

"Thank goodness," she says. Roy just stands beside her and shrugs.

"Like it was ever in doubt," Oliver fires back.

I wrap an arm around him and squeeze. I had heard the uncertainty in his voice, even if nobody else did. And no, I didn't encourage him. Because it was his choice. His son. His risk. And as much as I believed in him, it was up to him to believe in himself.

"I've given my statement," he says. "And so has William. We were just waiting for William's mother to arrive to collect him."

"And there aren't any problems?" I ask. "With...?"

"Arrows? And potentially exploding heads?" It's Roy who answers, though I asked Oliver. "I think the police chief is just happy that we got through that incident without anyone dying."

Dinah walks in. What is it with the perfectly timed entrances in this city?

"We have our suspect," Dinah says. "And we will continue looking for his accomplice. But maybe not in makeshift hospitals hidden in abandoned warehouses."

"And the reckless driving charges?" Oliver asks.

"I wasn't going to file any," Dinah says. "William was supposed to do what his instructor said. After all, William doesn't even have a permit yet."

Thea glares at Oliver. "You're just looking for an excuse to keep William from driving your car."

Oliver shrugs.

"We'll wait until Samantha is ready to go." I nod to Dinah. "Thank you. This would have been far worse without your help."

"You're welcome," Dinah replies. "And it's good to get information from a competent tech person."

Roy and Thea don't even look insulted. "She's right," Roy says. "If you want to stick around..."

Oliver gives Roy a Look, and Roy subsides.

"Of course, we're probably not the first people you would tell." Roy takes a step back.

Fortunately, Samantha and William come over and join us.

"Thanks," William says to me. "Mom and Dad told me that you found out about the bomb."

"Actually, Thea figured it out," I tell him. "I was just the tech support."

"You understood my message," William insists. "There was a reason why I texted you first."

I look up at him. It is still so weird, looking up at Oliver's son. "I'm willing to give you a hug," I tell him. "If that's ok."

He reaches down and hugs me, tight.

"We're going back to my place," Samantha tells us. "Let me know if you want some extra days this week, Oliver."

Oliver nods. "I don't know yet," he tells her.

"Would you like to come for dinner?" I glance at Oliver.

He nods. "Any time. Tomorrow? Next week?"

"We'll talk about it," Samantha says. "We've been eating a lot of pizza."

"Bye," William says, and leads the way out of the police station.

"He has homework," Oliver explains.

Thea and Roy look at each other and shake their heads. "Are you sure he isn't Felicity's kid?" Roy asks. "Felicity's and Samantha's?"

Thea elbows him, then rolls her eyes for good measure. "We're free to go, right?" She looks at Dinah for confirmation.

"I'd like the full story sometime," Dinah says. "But it doesn't have to be here."

Thea grabs Roy's arm. "We've got a date with Netflix," she says. "See you later, Ollie." She gives him an evil grin. "I'm so glad you didn't miss."

Oliver shakes his head at her as she leaves.

"You can go, too," Dinah says. "Unless there's anything you want to clear up."

"No problems?" Oliver asks. "The terms of my probation..."

"Nobody was hurt," Dinah says. "Nobody was killed. And we can't prevent a private citizen from owning a bow."

"Thanks for your help." Oliver sounds as sincere as I've ever heard him. "I don't know whether the car would have exploded..."

"Backup plans are good," Dinah says. "Thanks, both of you, for giving me a warning when you figured out what was going on." She frowns. "Though I wish Felicity would have given up Amanda Waller's location earlier."

I shrug, as innocently as I can manage. "Multitasking is hard. I had to do the search in the background."

Dinah looks suspicious, but she ultimately decides to accept the explanation. "All right," she says. "But if this is going to become a habit..."

"We know," Oliver interrupts. "You want to know about it."

Dinah looks at me. I nod back. She looks like she wants to say something more, but she just nods at me instead.

I take it as a goodbye. So we leave.

***

The Porsche is parked on one of the side streets. Oliver unlocks the doors, and I get in. We sit there for a moment. 

"Nice shooting," I say.

"Nice guiding," Oliver replies.

"I hope you said _nice driving_ to William," I joke.

"I did," Oliver says. "And I told him that I was very glad that he was alive. And I apologized for not listening to his complaints about his driver's ed teacher."

"I'm sure he appreciated it." I look at Oliver. "That was serious, you know."

"I know." He sits quietly for a moment. "I wonder how the Kasnians managed to plant an operative in William's driving school, even before Amanda Waller escaped from ARGUS." He looks at me. "Were they planning to attack you by targeting me? Did they connect me - and you - to Amanda? Or did they just have operatives everywhere?"

I shrug. "All of the above? The people working with the Kasnians have someone with hacking skills, as well as a bomb-implanting doctor. And you know how we always found too many possible suspects? That was because there really were that many people who were after Amanda Waller."

"You let Amanda Waller go." It isn't a question.

I nod.

"And then you lied about where she went. To protect the bomber." Oliver looks at me.

"They were pawns," I tell him. "Even Amanda. They aren't the people we need to catch." 

He raises an eyebrow.

"Well, the people _I_ need to catch," I correct myself. "Amanda told me about the people she worked with. There are a lot of them. It's still overwhelming. But now I know enough to bring them down."

"That will be dangerous," Oliver warns me.

"They put bombs in people's heads, Oliver," I tell him. "That is not ok. That is the opposite of ok."

"Are you going back to DC?" Oliver asks. "To work with Lyla?"

I stop and think. I could go back. I could provide evidence, confront them, take them to trial...

I look at Oliver. "No," I say. "I'm staying here."

He waits for me to say more.

"I want to stay here," I tell him. "With you. Well, and with Samantha and Nyssa and William and Thea and Roy. But... mostly with you."

He grins. It's like the fucking sun coming out.

And then he looks serious. "I didn't miss," he says. "I can still do it."

I nod. I'm not sure what the point is.

"I could be the Green Arrow again," he says.

I tilt my head and look up at him. "Do you want to?" 

He looks back at me. "Do you want me to?"

I frown. "It's up to you," I tell him. "It's your choice. I mean, yes, you could do it. You are still perfectly good with a bow. And with your fists. And I think the SCPD would work with you, and so would the League of Reformed Assassins, and Roy and Thea... but it's your life. Your choice. Do you want to do it?" 

He looks thoughtful. "I love this city," he says. "This is my home. I want to make it better. But..." He looks worried that I'll be upset. "I think Thea and Roy are doing a good job. And Samantha's Assassins, and the SCPD... they're fine without me."

"But do you miss it?" I ask.

"You mean, like you miss solving mysteries and fixing out-of-date computer systems?" he asks.

"Well... " I shrug. "Yes, I guess so."

"I don't think I do," Oliver says. "I like the work that I'm doing now. Building things. Helping create affordable housing." He grimaces. "Being the bad guy when William wants to drive the Porsche."

I nod. "Then do those things," I tell him. "You shouldn't have to come out of a Lazarus Pit to get to define yourself."

He nods. "And you can bring down the people who want to put bombs in people's heads," he says.

"I will bring them down." Somehow, I'm confident about it. "And be the tech support for Thea and Roy. And for the League of Assassins, I guess, though I think William wants to take over that role." I raise my eyebrows. "Maybe I should get a day job," I muse.

"There's lots of work for someone with your skills," Oliver says. "It wouldn't be hard for you to find a job. I'm sure Dinah would give you a reference."

I nod. "And health insurance would be a plus. And your apartment's really small." I glance at him. "Wouldn't it be nice for William to have his own bedroom?"

Oliver nods. And then he hesitates.

"I want to live with you," I tell him. "Of course I do. If that's ok with you. I mean, we are still married..."

He watches me. "I was married to Felicity Smoak," he says. "But I'm sitting in a car with someone who goes by Meghan Jones."

I shrug. "People come back from the dead all the time in this city." I look at him. "Right?" 

He nods. "Right."

We don't start the process of returning from the dead right away. After all, it's Saturday. And Oliver has laundry to pick up. And then we need to take it back to the apartment, and fold it. And have some lunch. And talk. Probably have some sex.

We've got time.

We've got all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> So Felicity is still married, but it's not the horrible loss-of-self marriage that she's trapped in on the show. And she isn't stuck being the mother of Oliver's kid.


End file.
